Tales From the Wasteland: Thistle
by SickleYield
Summary: It's not easy being a Ghoul. Thistle is making it one day at a time with a little help from new friends and old enemies. Rated T for violence and language. Based on Fallout 3 info from The Vault Wiki. Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!
1. Chapter 1

Tales from the Wasteland: Thistle

Author's Introduction And Notes on Lore

This is likely to be dull for those of you not interested specifically in the lore of the Fallout games and Fallout 3 in particular, so you may want to skip down to Chapter 1. Do please read this before leaving a comment arguing with my stated information about the Capital Wasteland, Fawkes, Ghouls, or other parts of the Fallout universe.

Where possible I've used information I got from the Fallout Wiki (the Vault). This information is sometimes subject to update or change, as with recent confirmation by game makers that Fawkes is (and was originally) male. I've assumed the Wiki to be mostly accurate as regards Fallout 3, which is the source of most characters and situations in this story. I have not played Fallout 1 or 2 and am not interested in differences in lore between those games and Fallout 3.

**Here are some things I understand to be true about the Fallout world based on FO3 gameplay and the Wiki which will be pertinent to this story:**

Fawkes is male.

If Fawkes reaches the end game with the Vault Dweller, he survives whether not the Vault Dweller dies.

Fawkes' Gatling laser is a unique weapon (i.e. not common in the Capital Wasteland).

The term Super Mutant is used in Fallout 3, although in other games and situations they have been called super mutants (no caps), supermutants, Super-Mutants, etc. Because the caps are tiresome I will probably use super mutant (although Fawkes has been known to say Meta-Human and probably will here, too). I'll try to be consistent, but I can't promise anything.

Super mutants created by the Vault 87 FEV strain are different from those made by the Master; except for Fawkes and possibly Uncle Leo, they are not as bright. All are both sterile and unsexed, although it's a bit vague whether genitalia are totally gone or nonfunctional (I've assumed they are, see the "deduced/made up" section below).

Ghouls may or may not live to great age depending on exactly how their DNA has been affected by radiation; similarly, Ghouls can come into existence merely by radiation exposure if they have the right genetics. (Contrary to how ordinary people react to strong radiation exposure, which is by dying horribly as in our world/real life.)

Ghouls are not harmed by radiation; Fawkes is not totally immune (witness his bloody appearance when returning with the GECK in FO3) but can heal from any long-term harm.

Super mutants are functionally immortal (they do not age) due to cellular regeneration, although Vault 87 specimens typically get larger and stupider as they age (eventually becoming Behemoths if they survive).

After the Vault Dweller completes the Main Quest and (in all probability, based on current gameplay with only the Anchorage expansion out) dies, the Capital Wasteland's water is drinkable and no longer radioactive. Not ALL radiation is gone from the Wastes, however.

Gary clones from Vault 108 are generally hostile to non-clones, with later ones being the most violent (and earlier ones, by extension, less so).

The Garys frequently say only their own name, but do have a small vocabulary of other words in Fallout 3, including "Hey", "Hello", "Watch Out", "Evening", "No," and "Damn."

The Operation Anchorage DLC indicates that at least one Gary left Vault 108, though whether voluntarily or not is not addressed.

**Here are things I'm deducing or making up:**

Ghouls regenerate skin somehow even while shedding it. If they didn't there would be Ghouls walking around with no skin, and the game doesn't support that. Ferals in FO3 often have no sloughing skin at all. I'm also assuming Ghouls can heal faster when exposed to radiation, although I'm not sure this is explicitly stated.

Vault 87-born super mutants are unsexed and/or asexual (meaning they have no sexual behaviors).

Vault 87 super mutants regenerate from physical harm as well as not aging. This process must not be instantaneous, since they can be killed by ordinary weapons. I'm assuming the ability to regenerate even to regaining lost limbs which is DEFINITELY not stated.

Some aspects of Fawkes's personality. I've tried to be true to him as I've seen him in the game, but everyone's experience of the character and interpretation thereof will be a little different.

Ghouls may choose new names upon being changed, or they may not. Many female Ghouls have botanical names (Willow, Tulip) and many male Ghouls have Victorian or Classical names (Winston, Charon). There are exceptions (Greta, Carol, Gob). I'm assuming this is individual choice or preference or, in Gob's case, abusive nicknaming.

Super mutants are in some sense cannibalistic, although whether on each other or just on smooth-skinned humans is not clear in FO3 nor on the Wiki. Human, not animal carcasses are found near the sacks of organs and parts found in FO3. I will assume some quantity of protein is a dietary necessity for regeneration (not surprising considering the typical mutant physique). Given their durability otherwise it seems likely uninjured mutants can go long periods without food.

Ghouls don't become hideous overnight unless exposed to fallout from a direct nuclear blast. Carol from Underworld says something to this effect in FO3 and something similar happens to Moira if the player character blows up Megaton in FO3.

I've deduced from the Gary clones' small vocabulary that at least some of them can learn new words, even if they've only chosen to use them with each other. I assume earlier clones to be at least a little smarter than later ones as well.

Gary 3 is not in Fallout 3; his existence is deduced from the presence of later clones. His individual personality traits and history are made up by me.

Thistle and Jay are original characters who do not exist in the game. There will probably be other original characters in this story as well.

Fawkes's quotations here will include things he says in the game ("There is safety in mindfulness") as well as other classical or historical things added by me. I've tried to be true to his speech patterns (he still uses contractions but has an advanced vocabulary and grammar), though it's hard to do them justice in print.

I will assume that the Vault Dweller (the FO3 player character) was a single-minded individual who did only the main questline before meeting his unfortunate end. Other quests will have been performed by others or not at all. As with my Oblivion and Warcraft III fics, my interest is less in the game's main character than in the peripheral people and lore of the gameverse.

On to the story.

1

I've been a Ghoul for something like five years now.

A lot of the folks you'll meet in Underworld are a lot older. Carol and Greta have been around since the Big One, something like two hundred years ago. We don't age much, which seems to me like a little karmic compensation for the fact that we tend to be ugly. _Really _ugly. But then, if you're reading this terminal, you've probably seen Ghouls around. Unless you're reading this after someone even worse than John Henry Eden has come up with another version of the modified FEV and we're all dead.

In which case I'm dead too, so none of this matters and the skin I'm losing to this keyboard is pretty much a waste. But if you're still reading, you can think of the author of this little piece of journaling as a very leathery permanent twenty-five-year old (Hayflick Limit confirmed, not that I generally pass out that info) with no nose and some very scary missing skin patches. At the moment the area around my right biceps is acting up again. Most of the fatty underlayer between the top layer of skin (the person reading this over my shoulder says "epidermis," which I call irrelevant) and the muscle is visible, with a bit of the red showing through. If you were to shake my right hand, which smoothskins mostly don't, some parts would crackle and others would slide, and I'm one of the lucky ones – unless I'm cut deep enough to bleed, I don't ooze. Mostly I wear gloves and keep my hands to myself.

Fingerless gloves, that is. Easier to operate a plasma rifle that way. And believe me, in this Ghoul's Wasteland you're going to want some kind of heat. Goes double if you're one of us. Maybe the super mutants don't always attack us on sight, but the Ferals and Raiders will kill and eat you no matter what your skin looks like. And unless you're in D.C. Proper, there's more of them.

But I got off-track again. Five years. I don't know where I was born or to who (the other person here says "to whom"). The first thing I remember is Little Lamplight, which is where I grew up right up until they kicked me out for getting too old, same as everyone does there. That's where I learned how to read, how to shoot, how to walk soft, and not to trust anyone taller than I am, which was anyone older than about 10. And this was when I was still cute, mind you. Not like I was blue-eyed and blond and curly or like that, I was pretty tan even underground and my hair was black and straight, but I had like a little snub nose and big brown eyes and all the other stuff that qualifies little kids as cute. (My eyes are cloudy now; you can't tell what color they used to be. My commentator here says he can tell they're brown, but I wish he'd shut up or type this himself. At which I am sure he will point out that his fingers are too big for the keyboard. Smug bastard.)

But I was talking about Little Lamplight. After I got out of there I wandered around the Wastes for a few years, learning things no sane person wants to know and drinking an awful lot of bad water. I managed to keep out of reach of the slavers and shoot or run away from the Raiders I ran across. I've spent some time in towns, but the predators in those places are a bit too much of the subtle for me.

I was helping guard one of the merchants when we got hit by some Raiders who, Atom only knows how, had got hold of a Fat Man and a mini-nuke. Me and my colleague (my commentator says "my colleague and I" under his breath, or tries to; he doesn't have much of an inside voice) had the merchant and his pack brahmin tucked up safe behind a ridge and thought we had the situation pretty well under control when this big round muzzle comes up over a rock a quarter-mile away, where I could only see it through my scope. I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I shot a wad of plasma down the barrel.

When I woke up, my clothes were blown mostly off and so was a good bit of my skin. The Raiders were in bloody shreds scattered around the landscape. I'd kept my grip on my rifle, I still don't know how. Even in the state I was in I knew calling out might be a bad idea, so I turned onto my good side and I crawled up the ridge. That was not a fun trip, let me tell you. I was in some pain, bits of me scraped off on the rocks, and I could tell by the smell I wasn't going to find anything nice once I got there.

The merchant had been protected from the blast by the ridge. That's why it was easy for me to tell he'd been shot in the face with something that shot big bullets. After that I didn't bother to look for the brahmin or my colleague. I hadn't figured him for that kind of asshole, but you never know with people. He did always carry that .44. At the time I didn't worry too much about that because I thought I was going to die, lying out there in the minimal shade with no water and almost no ammo.

I didn't die, though.

One important reason was that I found a water bottle on the merchant's body. I guess I ought to tell you his name, but the sad truth is I can't remember it now. He was just another grubby guy in an old pinstripe suit, chosen for the staying power of the prewar fabrics rather than because it was practical. I figured that my ex-colleague (I remember HIS name – called himself Jay) would've taken time to search the body, but I was hurting pretty bad at that point and I figured it was worth checking for a stimpak. There was one, just one, and there was the water.

And there were two extra cells for my plasma rifle in his right pants pocket. Which I know he didn't put there, because he only ever carried a shiv. Right then was when I decided that if I ever found that son-of-a-bitch Jay we were going to have a talk about his sense of humor.

I'm still not totally sure how long I was out there, but I know I healed up a lot faster than I expected. I shot a mole rat that came after the body, and that helped even if it tasted lousy. It didn't seem like that long before I had it together enough to stagger on back to Megaton and see Doc Church about fixing me up the rest of the way.

The damage didn't seem too bad at first. I had some gnarly scars, which can hurt a lady's social opportunities, but I have never been what you'd call a sociable gal. (Sorry, it's been a while since I had to remind anybody I'm female. Even now it's usually not too hard for folks to tell, at least when I'm dressed nice and having one of my better days facial-surface-wise. Not that those both happen at the same time very often. Forget I mentioned it.)

It was a few weeks before the sloughing started, and things went pretty much downhill from there. People don't care a lot what color you are out here. They do care if bits of your nose fly off when you sneeze. No smoothskin would hire me as a guard any more, so I eventually found my way to Underworld and started doing smaller jobs for other Ghouls. Eventually I worked my way up to guarding travelers again, because it does sometimes happen that a Ghoul will want to leave the old town and not have to worry about slavers or hostiles or those trigger-happy idiots from the Brotherhood of Steel. (My commentator here feels this description may be overly harsh considering the role the BOS played in Project Purity. I'm going to be diplomatic and say his experience is different from mine.)

Things went okay like that for a while. I took to carrying an extra water bottle. Got shot a few times, never fatally. Shot some other people with more success than they had shooting me. Project Purity didn't make much of a change in my circumstances, being as how radioactive water had not been a concern for me for a lot of months by that point, but it made a lot of smoothskins happy and I profited from that once or twice. I kind of missed having guys look at me like they used to, but sometimes that had its advantages too – getting drunk was a lot safer if I was of a mind. Usually I'm not. (I don't like not knowing what's going on around me, like when I'm sitting here typing and I know my commentator isn't keeping watch because he's breathing down my neck.)

The problem with getting shot is that even if the first time isn't the last time, there being a first time means there probably _will _be a last time. If you catch my drift. Anyway, that's not really important. I'm trying to get to the rest of my story here, which involves me laying out in the rocks under the hot sun with one water bottle and not enough ammo. Again. You'd think after the first time I would've learned, wouldn't you? I don't know why these things keep happening to me. It's not like I've ever gone around kicking puppies or like that.

This time I hadn't been hit by a mini-nuke. This time I was gut-shot. And this time it wasn't Raiders.

It was Jay.


	2. Chapter 2

2

The bastard didn't even know it was me. I had escorted an older lady from Underworld all the way out to Girder Shade, where she had business of her own. After she'd spent a few minutes in one of the wooden shacks she came back out with a leather satchel. She said this was where we parted company and asked if I was going back to Underworld.

"Yeah," I said.

"I don't suppose you'd consider taking a package back for me, dear? I promised Tulip I'd send it to her."

"Sure, why not?" I said. "I'll give it to Tulip." She handed it over, dry bits of skin flaking off her fingers, and I stuffed it in my rucksack. She didn't wear gloves, but she'd found a wide pink hat somewhere and she wore it all the time. Always struck me as funny, because she didn't look much older than I do. It was like she'd decided it was time to be an old lady, so she'd act like one.

"You be careful, dear," was the last thing she told me. It's not like I wasn't listening. It just didn't do me any good.

The whole trip I'd had the uneasy feeling we were being followed, but I never saw or heard anybody. That made me really _really _nervous, because on those rare occasions when this happens it means somebody _is _following me but they're as good as I am at walking soft. Which rules out most Raiders and nearly all slavers, but it's still very bad. Sometimes a yao guai will track you for miles and you'll never see it. If they don't try to pull you down the first day, they usually lose interest pretty fast. Same with plain wild dogs. Besides, I'd had this feeling since the outskirts of D.C. If a feral Ghoul was after me they were being weirdly patient about it and that made me more nervous yet.

So I took off out of Girder Shade in the early morning, looking over my shoulder all the way. I got out from under the highway and headed out. At the time I was thinking to stay the night at Jocko's, an old gas station not too far from there. The walls were wood and tin, but not even I could sneak into it without making a noise – the whole thing was too creaky. I didn't go straight there. I went North to where there were some rocks and my trail would be hard to follow, stuck to them until they looped around toward the South, and stepped off into a radioactive mudflat that a smoothskin couldn't follow me through without being very sorry afterwards. (Project Purity might've cleaned the water, but it'd take more than that to get the rads out of the dirt.) You can't tell something's radioactive by looking at it, but a Ghoul can always tell where there's radiation. I don't know what it feels like to anyone else, but I get kind of a funny tingle on whatever skin is bare and aimed at it.

Eventually the mudhole turned into a shallow pond, which was probably rad-free but wasn't looking too clean. There were still no mirelurks hanging around, which was good. At least, that's what I was thinking when I heard the heavy _boom _of the .44, and then the bullet hit.

I didn't see where it came from. I was moving Southeast at that point and the sun had only just come up, so it was still in my eyes. I'd thought it was worth the risk because whoever was following me would have it in _his _eyes, too. It never occurred to me he might know the terrain as well as I did and lay for me behind a stony outcrop next to the pond.

It was like being punched in the stomach, but it didn't hurt too much at first. I was already diving for the nearest boulder when I heard the second shot. I felt the breeze as it went by, and then I was on my knees behind the rock with my plasma rifle in my hands and my rucksack on the ground in front of me. About that time it registered what I'd heard and what it had to be. I looked down at my belly. There was a bleeding hole in my leather vest. It didn't look too bad until I felt around back and found the _other _hole, which was a lot bigger. My hand came away wet.

I wiped it on my jeans and wiggled my toes. I could still feel all of them. I still had my ruck, but now did not seem like a good time to go fishing around in there for stimpaks.

I heard the rattle and click of somebody shoving a couple more bullets into the Magnum. I don't know why I knew then who it was. Lots of guys use that kind of gun. Maybe something about the sound had stuck in my memory. Maybe it was something about the fact he was taking time to reload a gun that wasn't empty.

"What'd you do that for?" I said, still behind my rock.

"You moved pretty fast," said a familiar voice. "Not as fast as me, though. You toss me that package you've got in your pack and I'll call it quits."

"You and me are a long way from quits, Jay," I growled. He was quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out who I was. My voice is a lot raspier than it was, and the bullet hole (which was just starting to hurt) wasn't helping that any. "Why'd you have to go and kill him?"

"Kill who?" he didn't sound very concerned, just interested.

"McPherson," I said. (_Now _I remember his name.) There was another sort of pause. I could picture him over there behind his outcrop, squatting with one arm resting on his knee while he thought. I wondered if he was tanned as dark as he'd used to get. He used to look kind of funny with his hair blond and his skin browner than mine. He'd be rangy, not too tall but big through the shoulders. That was how I remembered him, anyhow. I'd used to think he wasn't too hard to look at. It about turned my stomach to think it now.

"You a relative?" he said after a minute.

"No, you asshole," I said, trying to keep my voice from sounding weak. This was getting harder. I could feel blood soaking the top of my jeans in the back. "My name was Garcia."

"Garcia..." He sounded sort of surprised. "_Connie _Garcia?"

"Not any more," I said. "Now it's Thistle."

"So you did make it out of there," said Jay. "I never thought you'd end up a Ghoul, though. When you didn't come after me I thought you must be dead after all."

"Didn't know where to look," I said. "And here you found me instead." I turned up the power feed on the plasma rifle a little so he could hear it start to hum.

"It don't matter either way," said Jay. "I killed McPherson for the same reason I'm gonna have to have that package you took from the old lady. Somebody's paying me."

I should've figured that one out sooner, really. I'd known the first time I saw Jay he was too good to be out guarding one merchant. Explained why McPherson told me he'd come cheaper than I had. I wondered who a scrawny gunsmith in a stripey suit could've made that mad at him, but it didn't seem really relevant.

"You know what's in the package?" I said.

"Don't care," said Jay.

"Okay," I said. Now I was getting mad. Not about McPherson – I hadn't really known him and for all I knew, he'd had it coming – but about me. Jay didn't sound sorry. It didn't bother him that he'd made me into what most people would consider a monster. This wasn't really any different than what I'd expected from him, but it still made me angry. I kept hold of the plasma rifle with one hand (that one cost me, let me tell you) and fumbled the package out of the ruck. It was a satchel made of leather, sewed shut. I tore the stitches out with my teeth and pulled it open. There was something silky inside.

I pulled it out and stared at it. It was underwear. There was a leopard-print pair of panties and a nightie to go over top. Jay had shot me in the stomach and I was very likely going to bleed out because somebody had paid him to retrieve a set of _lingerie_.

"Here you go," I said, and tossed the underwear up in the air and blew them into plasma. I did the same with the top. Then the satchel. It flew far enough to make a satisfying rain of green goo over the outcrop where Jay was still hiding.

"What'd you go and do that for?" said Jay. He sounded a little annoyed now, like maybe he'd got a small plasma burn. I grinned at the boulder even though I could see little spots now.

"You got two choices," I said. "Depending whether or not you actually knew what you were looking for." I slid down and leaned my shoulder against the rock, trying to breathe deep. "You can go tell your boss you saw the package blow up. Or you can come over here and try to get it back, if you think that wasn't it."

"That was it," said Jay. "I never saw it, but I remember _you _that well."

I could've laughed then, except it would've hurt too bad. I heard the _crunch _of heeled shoes on the gravel and dirt. Jay could walk without making much noise if he wanted. He was doing it on purpose so I could hear him. He walked right out where I could see him with the .44 in one hand and a stimpak in the other. Why he thought I wouldn't shoot him then, I don't know. Why I _didn't _shoot him then is more than I can tell you. Maybe because he was still pretty easy on the eyes.

"Old times' sake, Garcia," said Jay, and tossed the stimpak in the dirt in front of me and turned his back and walked away.

I cursed him under my breath, but I grabbed the stimpak and jabbed it into the hole in my back anyhow. I just about screamed at the way this felt, but I managed to bite through my lower lip instead while I pressed the plunger. I could feel the bleeding slow down. It took both of the stimpaks in my rucksack to stop it all the way. And that still left me with a pretty good hole in back, a smaller one in front, and a pair of rubber legs. I sat there leaning against the rock for a while, thinking about my chances.

Then I opened my eyes and it was dark. I felt for my gun and my ruck, trying to figure out how long I'd been out. My eyes adjust to the dark pretty fast. The moon was up and no roving predator had found me yet. I was still leaning against that same rock next to the murky pond. The pond was at the bottom of a hollow, with my rock on one gentle slope and the radioactive mud most of the rest of the way around.

The power cell on my rifle was doing fine. I must've powered it down without even knowing it.

The whole middle of my body felt stiff and sore. My bitten lip was swollen. I shucked one glove and went to crawl over by the nearest edge of the mud. That hurt pretty bad and I had to lay there for a second on my side before I could do what I'd come for. I untucked my vest and shirt, pulled them up, and packed the mud as far into the hole as I could front and back. After that I had to lie there a while longer and things sort of went away again. When they came back the stars were out still, but the moon was gone. I managed to get back over by my rock and pulled one of my two water bottles out of my ruck. I was careful opening it. My fingers felt like sausages and, maybe because of the stress, my right hand was bare down to the muscle.

I managed to get myself a drink without spilling too much. That made me feel a little better. I got the fingerless glove back onto my skinless right hand so it would have a little more protection. Losing skin doesn't really hurt a Ghoul, and even if it had, it couldn't hurt as much as the hole in my gut. I was still thirsty, and the pond was right there, so I drank the rest of what was in the bottle. Then I settled as best I could, propped between the rock and my pack, and let things drift again for a while.

The morning sun woke me up. I thought about trying to get some of the blood out of my clothes, so the smell wouldn't attract anything, but I couldn't see myself doing it. Now I was feeling some bruises I must've gotten when I dove for the rock. My lip was still fat. And the middle of me didn't hurt too bad as long as I didn't move or breathe too deeply.

At least there was no fever, no infection. Except for tailored viruses (which you don't see too many of out here in the Wasteland) there just aren't that many microbes that can live on something as lousy with rads as a Ghoul is. I'd packed the wound full of radioactive mud, too, which ought to make me heal faster than a smoothskin. A Ghoul's got to be careful of that. Too much radiation will eventually turn you into a Glowing One, and that will kill your chances of ever seeing any company that isn't feral and crazy. Which, since Glowing Ones are feral and crazy too, probably won't matter much to you by that point.

At the moment it was looking like a better risk than just hoping the wound would close on its own. I was plenty thankful for the radiation right then, and being a Ghoul didn't seem too bad, either.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Time went by. I think the sun went down and came up again. I drank some more water. The second day I managed to choke down some dried stuff I'd been carrying, but keeping it down was a chore and I didn't eat much more that day. Maybe the wound hurt a little less. I stuck some more mud in it just in case. That tired me out again, and when I woke up I was shivering and it was almost dark. The sky was still light, and there were no stars showing, but the shadows were heavy down in the hollow where I was. There was a little bit of a breeze, cooling the heavy, thick air.

First I checked the plasma rifle, quietly, out of habit. Then I sat hunched up for a second, trying to figure out what woke me up. I knew I'd heard something. I waited a minute, listening, and then I heard it again. There was something snuffling off to my left, out of sight at the top of the hollow. It might be a wild dog, but I was willing to bet it was a yao guai. I held real still. I could probably kill one of the big beardogs with my rifle, but it'd take a lucky shot to bring him down on the first one and I'd only get one chance. I wanted to see him first. I'd thought all the blood had dried up, but yao guai are scent hunters and they've got a good sense of smell.

Then I heard another sound. This one came from the other side of the hollow, away from the hunting animal.

It's kind of hard to describe, but once you've heard a body being dragged over the hard ground you never forget it. Fabric makes a noise where it scrapes through the dirt and gravel. If it's somebody crawling you can hear them push off with their boots or shoes here or there. People can learn not to do this, but most never do.

Whoever this was didn't know that. That meant it wasn't Jay. Anyhow, I couldn't think of any reason for him to come back. He sure as Hell wasn't about to check and see if _I _was doing all right, not after last time. So I listened hard as I could. After a while I realized something odd: whoever he was (the sound was too big and heavy for it to be someone my size), he was pushing off with just one shoe at a time. And there wasn't much wind, never is out here, but it was blowing from him to me.

The yao guai, if that was what it was, wasn't after me. It was after him.

I tried to decide if there was anything I could do about this. Whoever it was, he must be able to hear the thing as well as I could – maybe even see it. And if he wasn't crawling because he was trying to sneak up on me, it was because he was hurt too bad to walk upright. Maybe he knew about the pond and was trying to get to the water. Or maybe it was another Ghoul and he was trying to get to the mud.

The yao guai solved my problem for me with a scrabble of claws and a snarl. I caught one fast-moving glimpse of it as it shot past on the rim of the hollow, a high-shouldered four-legged silhouette against the paler sky. Sound stopped for a second as it sprang and its feet left the ground. The silence held for a beat.

Then there was a booming rattle like the biggest can of BBs you ever heard and a flash of red light, and I actually saw pieces of the beardog raining down on the edge of the hollow. The light cut off.

"_I WIN AGAIN_**,**" said a voice. I tensed up as I realized what it was. Lots of Ghouls have raspy voices, but we tend to sound like we've been gargling rocks. There are some smoothskins who can hit bass notes that will make the floor shake under you. Not smoothskin nor Ghoul can produce that absolute guttural note I was hearing, that rumbling snarl from a chest bigger than any human ever born. It had to be a super mutant.

Now, it's mostly for the benefit of the person reading over my shoulder that I'll explain why this worried me. The mutants around D.C. have never tried to hit Underworld. That whole area around the Mall is one big war zone with Ghouls, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the occasional slavers or other humans with guns mixing it up with the super mutants, and the fact that the mutants are still there should give you some idea exactly how tough those mothers are. They've mostly left us Ghouls alone. Since we're pretty sure they're not just being nice, the conventional wisdom is that we either 1. don't taste very good or 2. aren't eligible for conversion into mutants ourselves, although that last one is mostly just a rumor and nobody really knows if they've still got active vats around. (My commentator here thinks they do, but he's never seen one. Says he heard it from somebody named Leo. But that's a digression.)

Those are groups of super mutants all in one place, and they're about as organized as they get. Ghouls in D.C. mostly keep to Underworld, out of sight and out of mind. So just because those two large armed groups have never mixed it up did not, to my way of thinking, mean I was not going to be an easy snack for one wounded mutant with a scary-ass weapon out here in the middle of nowhere. Especially since he'd just blown the yao guai to smithereens and rumor had it they needed fresh protein to heal.

Now I could hear him crawling again. I turned up the power on the plasma rifle, more for reassurance than because I had much hope of that working. The crawling sound stopped. I thought about trying to scramble around behind my boulder, but I was still pretty weak at that point and I didn't think I'd be able to lift my rifle after that. Maybe if I was lucky he'd come over the edge of the hollow headfirst and I could get a shot off before he did.

No such luck. The first thing I saw was the barrel of the weapon. It was about as big as my head, or looked it. I could see little red lights glowing in all the cylinders of the big drum, and I knew I was looking at a gatling laser.

You don't see a lot of those around. Not being carried by one person, anyhow.

"I know you're down there," said the mutant's voice. It sounded different than it had before. Then it had been out of control, berserk. Now it was calmer, but the words jerked into place like a line of bricks, like the speaker had to work hard at getting them where he wanted them. "And I know you're armed. As you can see, I, too, am armed."

I frowned. This was not the kind of talk I was used to hearing from super mutants. I think about the longest sentence I ever heard from one was "Get out of the way," and that one had been smarter than the average.

"I would rather not harm you," said the mutant. "But I require water. This is the only source for miles."

"Help yourself," I said. It came out as a croak the first time and I had to clear my throat and say it again. "You power down that gat and I'll put down my rifle."

The red lights on the gatling laser's drum shut off immediately. There was a pause. I could almost hear the mutant listening to the soft hum of the plasma rifle powering down. Not a lot of super mutants would know to do that. In fact, none. _Something really weird is going on here, _ I thought. I laid the rifle down carefully beside me and waited to see what would happen.

The gat disappeared. I listened to the sound of someone hanging it on a backpack one-handed. The scrape of the mutant crawling resumed, and after that a head and shoulders bulked up against the sky at the far edge of the hollow. He looked pretty much like a lot of other super mutants. He had green skin with weird orange highlights where the surfaces were higher. Muscles bulged out of his neck and shoulders, and veins bulged out of those. His bald head looked small for him. His eyes were set close together back in his skull, so I couldn't really see them in the dim light. The hand I could see was almost as big as his head, certainly bigger than mine. Super mutants _start _at nine or ten feet tall. This one couldn't be too old but he was probably close to eleven feet standing up. I'd seen bigger but I'd seen smaller, too.

He stayed there for a minute, I guess waiting to see if I'd keep my part of the agreement. We looked at each other.

"It appears you are an honest person," he said. Super mutants have basically nothing in the way of lips, so they have this permanent sort of tooth-baring snarl. Makes their faces kind of hard to read. Mostly this is not a problem because there's nothing there _to _read. I could tell that wasn't true here.

"Well, I'm not a liar," I said.

"We will see," he said, and crawled on down into the mud. The gatling laser was strapped to his back. The thing had to weigh more than I do (actually two or three times that, I've found out since) but he seemed not to feel it at all. As he wriggled down the slope I could see why he was crawling. His left leg was gone just above the knee. The stump had mostly closed up, but tags of skin and the fabric of his torn pants dragged in the radioactive slime behind him. That was another weird thing. Most super mutants wear some kind of armor, thrown together from whatever they can find – car parts, old tires, broken weapons. This one just had on a pair of blue pants, one very large boot, and a torn blue jacket with part of a number on the back.

He'd held onto the other boot when he lost his leg. It was tied to the top of the gatling laser's power pack. He'd tied it tight enough that it didn't swing down and bop him on the ear as he crawled, which was more than _I _would have thought to do.

"What happened to your leg?" I asked. He stopped crawling so he could shove himself up on his elbows and look at me. Maybe I surprised him.

"I met an older and larger one of my brethren to the East," he said. "I've heard them called behemoths, though I don't care for the word. It took me some time to persuade him that I am inedible." It was surreal, listening to him. I'd met professors who weren't as well-spoken, but it was still a super mutant's voice, and he still slotted every word in place like he was picking them off a shelf.

"He tore your leg off?" I said. The mutant lowered himself and went back to crawling on his belly through the mud.

"No. I'm afraid I stepped on a mine."

I'd heard of a place where there were people with mines. I'd heard a rumor there was a behemoth there, too. I'd never been stupid or crazy enough to go check.

"You crawled all the way from Evergreen Mills?" I said.

"That's a very good guess," said the mutant. He finally got to the pond and stuck his face down in it. I listened to him suck up water with no lips for a while. When he came up for air he looked across the dingy water at me, and the rising moon fell on his face so that I saw his eyes. They were green, and the pupils were tall and thin the way they usually are on mutants. They reflected the light just a little. At that range he had to be able to tell I was a Ghoul, even covered in mud and blood. If he hadn't guessed it from my voice already, that was.

I was starting to think he probably would notice something like that. I wasn't sure if I should be reassured or scared as Hell.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: The discerning reader will note that I've made up the concept of having to power up/down the energy weapons. Nothing in FO3 seems to have a safety catch. I haven't noticed any lore regarding yao guai hunting behavior, but they do seem to have paired spawn points._

_I don't know that there's really any way Project Purity could cause it to rain, but I've never heard a good explanation for how nuclear war could make it STOP raining in the D.C. Area, either._

4

The super mutant wiped his lipless mouth with the back of one huge hand. He was only three or four yards away now. When you get used to seeing super mutants at a distance they sort of shrink for you, and then if you get up close to one, it's scary how big they are.

"You seem to be injured," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "I got shot."

The mutant looked around.

"It was a couple of days ago," I said. "He took off when he found out I didn't have what he wanted." I tried not to wince as my muscles unclenched. I didn't realize until then how tense I'd been. Now I was tired, and as things unbound the wound in my belly hurt again. I leaned against the boulder carefully, trying not to look as if I were slumping. The super mutant wasn't as bad off as I was, even if he had lost a leg. Being tough is what they were made for.

"You're waiting here for the radiation to heal you," said the mutant. It didn't sound like a question. "This seems an intelligent plan." I watched him roll himself into a sitting position with his one-and-a-half legs out in front of him. He moved sort of careful, but he wasn't clumsy.

"It would be if I was here on purpose," I said, sort of dry. "This is where I fell. And, like you said, there's water." I turned my head so I could lean it against the rock and still see him. "Are you going to kill me?"

"I see no immediate necessity for that," said the super mutant.

"Don't you need protein to grow your leg back?" I said. Talking seemed like more of an effort every minute.

"Yes," said the super mutant. "But I suspect patience will be rewarded in that area."

I was trying to figure out what this meant when everything fuzzed out again.

I was awakened by the supersonic hum of the gatling laser going from off to full power in a couple of seconds. I had the plasma rifle up and charged before I knew what was going on. By that time the super mutant was already firing at something behind and to my left. He was shouting something, but the world-filling rattle of the gat drowned him out. This time he must've managed to cut it off in time to avoid blowing up his target. When he finally shut it off, leaving me with a ringing in my ears, something rolled down past me and fetched up in the mud by the edge of the pond.

It was another yao guai, bigger than the other one. It was full of holes, and the head was halfway off, but it was in one piece. Now I knew what he had meant by patience being rewarded. If I hadn't been so tired and brain-dead I'd have thought of it before. _They hunt in pairs._

I heard the super mutant take a deep breath, filling his giant lungs. Then he hung the gat's barrel back up, flopped over on his belly again, and crawled over to the carcass. He had to go right past me, but he went out of his way to keep a polite distance. This had to be for my sake, since it added a minute or so to the trip and he had to splash through the muck at the water's edge.

I powered down the plasma rifle and laid it down beside me as I watched him. He put one arm around the stinking black-furred body – I could smell the reek of it from where I sat – and dragged it with him as he crawled further from the pond. Some blood had run into the water, but it was already clearing, swirled away by whatever sad little spring kept the pond here to begin with.

"It's probably best if you don't watch this," said the super mutant. There was another sound in his voice, the edge of the berserk roar I'd first heard. I turned my head away.

That was it for me for a while. The sky was leaden gray and covered in clouds when I opened my eyes. The super mutant was closer than before. He sat on a thick tree trunk he must've dragged down into the hollow. It still had green leaves on one end. I noticed he had both boots on, and he was mostly free of the mud. There was no sign of the carcass.

I dug out a bottle and took a couple of swallows of water before I tried to talk. It was pond water. It tasted bitter and there was grit in it, but it was better than nothing. "That didn't take long," I said.

"It's been two nights and one day," he said. "You rested for a long time."

"Oh." That explained why I was so thirsty. I was starting to be hungry, too. Maybe that was a good sign. I noticed as I took another drink that I'd mostly regrown the skin on my right hand.

"Your injury must be severe," said the super mutant. "We are near to a source of radiation and yet you have not healed." I shrugged, but carefully.

"Through-and-through with a .44," I said. "If I wasn't a Ghoul it would've killed me. It's actually closing up pretty fast." I peeled up my shirt and looked at it. Skin had flaked off around the entry hole, which made it look worse than it was, but it was definitely smaller than before. "A couple more mud packs should do it," I said.

"You might be wiser to find shelter," said the super mutant. "It will rain soon."

I squinted up at the sky. It hadn't been that long since Project Purity. I kept forgetting the rain had come back. And the lightning. Being out in the open was not such a good idea if we were going to have a storm.

"Looks like you're right," I said. I drank the rest of the bottle and knee-scuffed my way over to the water to refill it. I clapped some more mud on front and back while I was there, then rinsed my hands and face. My belly hurt, but I still felt all right otherwise. I could probably choke down some of my jerked rations and walk a little way. "So why are you still here?" I said.

"You let me share your water," he said. "It has been some time since I've encountered a simple courtesy from another person. It seemed appropriate to stay."

"You're really not like other super mutants," I said. I made it back to my ruck and put the bottle away, then dug around for the jerky.

"I am unlike them in a great many ways," he said. "My name is Fawkes."

I remembered then. I should've picked it up earlier, but I'd been hurting and fuzzled for most of the time we'd been talking. _He's wearing what's left of a vault suit. Vault 87, _I thought_. And he's carrying a gatling laser, and how many of those do you see every day? I'm an idiot._

"Fawkes," I said. "You were with the Vault Dweller when he set off the GECK."

"Yes," said Fawkes. "I was proud to call him a friend."

"So he did die?" I said.

"Yes," said Fawkes. It was the shortest statement I'd heard from him.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"There is no armor against fate," said Fawkes. I got the feeling he might have shrugged, but he didn't. Maybe a super mutant's shoulders are set up wrong for it, or maybe it just didn't occur to him.

"I'm Thistle," I said. I laughed a little at how weird it was, saying it to him. "Pleased to meet you, Fawkes. Want some jerky?"

Fawkes inclined his head politely. "No, thank you. I've eaten already."

I knew better than to ask for details. I ate some of the jerked brahmin and washed it down with water. It stayed down all right. I felt a little stronger by the time I'd put away what was left. I slung the plasma rifle over one shoulder and levered myself up against the boulder. I heard Fawkes stand up as well. I thought my knees were going to give for a second, but I caught myself. I looked down at the rucksack. It seemed a long way down now.

See, here would be a great place to talk about Fawkes's giant shadow falling across me and the rucksack. That would sound nice and dramatic. Except it didn't, because Fawkes was standing West of me and it was still morning, so his shadow actually fell the other direction. It'd be nearer right to say _my_ shadow fell on _him_. (Here my commentator says a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, but I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.)

I was trying to reach down for the ruck without bending too much when I saw the pair of huge boots out of the corner of my eye. I straightened up carefully.

"Allow me to assist you," said Fawkes. He bent over and picked up the rucksack in one hand. It fit there like a wallet.

"Thanks," I said. I debated for a minute as I looked up at him. Well, I could use the help, that was the truth. And it's not like I could stop him. "There's an old gas station not far away from here. It'll be a little crowded, but the roof doesn't leak."

"Then lead on," said Fawkes. "And I shall follow."


	5. Chapter 5

5

_A/N: I don't know if ghouls sweat canonically, but biologically they shouldn't. Sweat glands are located in the dermis and FO3 ghouls are usually depicted missing some or all of it; what skin they have looks very dry and dead, as if there are no functioning oil glands. They apparently feel no pain from the skin that's sloughing away, indicating the pain nerves are dead. If sebaceous glands and pain nerves are dead, then sweat glands should be as well._

_Jocko's Pop & Gas Stop is a real location in FO3 and is basically as described here._

I made it about a quarter mile before I fell the first time. Maybe I tripped on a rock, or maybe one of my knees played me a trick. Either way, I ended up on all fours in the dust. Fawkes stood next to me and watched as I got up. Now like I said earlier, super mutant faces are not very easy to read. Just watching seemed kind of unfriendly, especially since he was still carrying my rucksack, but who knew how Fawkes thought? He wasn't a human person and he wasn't a super mutant like any of the others I'd been around. Maybe he wanted to see if I could do it myself. Anyway, he didn't say anything, which I was starting to realize was unusual for him.

In another quarter mile or so I could see the gas station off in the distance. It was just a couple of specks up on a small rise, but I knew what it was. "That's it," I said, stopping for a second. This overbalanced me and I almost fell again. My insides felt raw and achy, like movement wasn't doing me any good. I managed to stay upright after a couple of seconds of fighting it.

Fawkes shaded his eyes with his free hand. "It doesn't appear very defensible."

"Nope," I said. It hurt to talk. "Keep the rain off, though." I started forward again before it got too hard. I could tell we were still almost a mile away. It might as well have been ten. I tripped again a minute later and this time I only just caught myself with one elbow before I landed on my sore belly. I stayed there for a minute, swearing quietly.

"Thistle?" said Fawkes.

"Yeah?" I said between clenched teeth.

"Would you permit my assistance?"

I mouthed this back to myself silently. _Permit?_

"Hell, yes," I said. He got down on one knee and held out his hand. I grabbed one of the fingers with both my hands and levered myself back up onto my feet. Close enough to touch, heat radiated from the super mutant's body like a blast furnace. He smelled strongly of something very alien. It wasn't really bad, not like a dirty human body, but like something you would expect to find green and bubbling in a beaker. It was sour and sort of chemical.

"There are those who prefer not to be touched by a super mutant," Fawkes said. He didn't seem bothered that I was that close. Maybe this was because he could've swatted me like a bug. I couldn't spare much energy to worry about this, since I was mostly still wondering if I was going to die, and if I did, whether it would be an improvement.

"Know what you mean," I managed. Fawkes put his head on one side, like he'd somehow forgotten I was a Ghoul.

"Yes. I can see that you would." He looked up at the distant station again. "I think we'll arrive more quickly if I carry you."

I breathed for a minute and allowed as how I agreed with this. I let go of his finger. Fawkes crooked his empty arm and I sort of collapsed onto it, but carefully. I didn't want to jar myself again. He moved his arm a little bit, adjusting my weight, and then he stood up. He put the rucksack into the hand nearest me so his other hand was free. I felt the muscle in his forearm move as he did it.

"There is safety in mindfulness," he said. That close up I could feel his voice rumbling through his chest. The sour chemical smell was stronger, too.

"Probably is," I said. Fawkes's chuckle shook me a little. I must've stiffened up because he stopped right away. Then he turned and started off toward the gas station. Each step made a solid _crunch, _but it wasn't too bumpy all things considered. He must have been really going slowly to keep from outpacing me, before, because he was standing at the edge of the little square of blacktop in no time at all. (My commentator here says if you spend a lot of time around people who are half as tall as you, you have to get used to taking little steps. I never thought of it like that.)

He walked up to the building more slowly. From my angle I could see the cords in his neck move as he looked around. It wasn't much to look at, just a shack made out of warped wooden boards and sheets of corrugated steel. The rocket ship that stood over the dead gas pumps was taller than the building, still making a proud show of its red and white paint. Once upon a time, somebody might've made a small living here serving the cars that went by. It wasn't close enough to the highway to ever have done much business. Something was still powering the old Nuka-Cola machine that seemed to be holding up one wall. It blinked on and off and hissed quietly.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

I listened for a minute before I said, "Put me down." Fawkes went down on one knee again and let me slide off. I stood there leaning against the outside of the building and listened some more. The thunder rumbled again, closer now. I thought I saw lightning from the corner of my eye.

Then I unslung the plasma rifle, powered it up, and nudged the door open with my foot. There was nobody inside. I edged in to the left of the door, looked behind it, and checked behind the counter. Nothing but a couple of bottles of Nuka-Cola Quantum and an old book. The windows were boarded up tight. The only light came from gaps in the wall slats and the eerie blue glow of the soda bottles.

I slumped into the one rickety steel chair as Fawkes ducked under the lintel. He'd never powered up the gat. Maybe his hearing was better than mine, or maybe his sense of smell. In which case I felt sorry for him stuck in there with me. I don't sweat any more, but I must've stunk pretty bad from the dried mud and blood I was covered in. I'd left a powdery brown mark against the remains of his blue jacket. He didn't seem aware of it, but I figured he was pretending. He'd made an effort to clean himself up after he grew his leg back, so it wasn't like he didn't notice things like that. (My commentator here says that's a pretty good observation for somebody in as bad of shape as I was, or longer words to that effect. I say I'm the one doing the typing here and he can damn well write his own journal if he doesn't like it.)

Fawkes set my rucksack down on the counter next to me. He did it gently enough that it didn't rattle the bottles inside. Just that gesture scared me a little, more than it had when I'd watched him shoot down the yao guai. Self-control wasn't something I associated with super mutants. It was one of the things that made them less dangerous. That and being stupid.

_And Fawkes is smarter than I am. I'm pretty sure, _I thought. (The person reading over my shoulder is being diplomatically quiet right now. This is very typical of him.)

It started to rain. I twitched at the first rattle on the corrugated steel, then winced. Fawkes just stood there listening to it. It was sort of a relaxing sound if you thought about it, white noise without static...

I sat up suddenly, panting as scraps of a nightmare cleared away. I looked around. I was sitting on the wood floor of the station. I must've had my head pillowed on my rucksack as I slept. My rifle lay in splinters on the floor around me. And where was Fawkes? I looked up just in time to see the huge boot draw back, aiming a kick at my unprotected belly -

"Thistle," said Fawkes.

My eyes snapped open as my fingers closed around the stock of the plasma rifle. I lay still for a moment, making sure I was really awake. I was lying on my side on the floor of the station, my right cheek pillowed on my rucksack. Fawkes must have put it there while I slept. I wasn't sure if he'd moved me to the floor or I'd fallen out of the chair. It was dark except for the blue glow from the Nuka-Cola Quantum. The two bottles must be up on top of the counter now.

"Did you say something?" I said. The super mutant knelt in the opposite corner of the room, still wearing the gatling laser.

"You seemed to be having a nightmare," said Fawkes.

"Yeah." I sat up carefully, putting my back to the wall beside the counter. "Thanks." I could still hear rain on the corrugated steel outside, harder than before. After a moment I said, "How do you know what a person having a nightmare looks like?"

"My friend often didn't sleep well," said Fawkes. It wasn't hard to know who he meant. He'd probably only ever _had _one friend. _And I've had, let's see. None. So maybe I should hop off this train of thought right now._

"What about you?" I said.

"Meta-Humans seldom require sleep," said Fawkes.

"Huh," I said. I guessed I'd never seen a super mutant asleep. I just assumed they did it somewhere hidden. We sat there quiet for a while, listening to the rain outside. I like rain. Most of the more dangerous things that roam the Wasteland will lay up until it's over, remembering when the rain was actually dangerous to living things. I grew up knowing that and even now, listening to it makes me feel safer. (My commentator says he has often wondered about that.)

I wondered if Fawkes felt the same. Probably not a lot of things were dangerous to a super mutant with a gatling laser and a better brain than the average human. I was still thinking about this when I fell asleep again.

This time I woke up leaning over against the corner between the counter and the wall. Fawkes was gone. I wondered for a minute if he'd gone off during the night. I stayed still and listened for a while, like I usually do right after I wake up. After a while a shadow fell between the slats in the wall and I heard the step of a giant boot outside. I caught a glimpse of a green arm and a shred of blue fabric: Fawkes was still here.

I ate some more jerky and drank some more water. I was a little stiff from leaning against the wall for however many hours it had been, but I felt pretty good that morning. Reaching around to the exit wound in my back, I found it much smaller. The entry hole was closed, just a scar in the making. I felt stronger. The ache was less.

I got up carefully and took inventory of what I had, losing most of the skin off my right hand again in the process. One and one-half bottles of pond water. Another two or three meals' worth of jerky. Two cells for the plasma rifle. No stimpaks. A pretty good number of caps. I thought about the trip between here and Megaton: water holes I knew, patches of radiation where I could stop at night, places I'd have to route around. I could go back to Girder Shade, but there was nobody there who could sell me much in the way of supplies and I doubted the old lady was there any more.

With this decided, I opened the shack door and said, "Fawkes?"

The super mutant appeared around the corner of the building. "Good morning, Thistle."

"Morning," I said. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

"Yes, of course," he said.

"Thanks for all your help," I said.

Fawkes shook his bald head once. "It was nothing. My way fell alongside yours."

"Be that as it may, I appreciate it," I said. "I'm doing pretty well today, but I'm low on supplies. I'm thinking about heading East to Megaton."

"That's a long walk," said Fawkes. "It will take several days."

"Yep," I said. "Maybe more. I'll be slow at first. You're welcome to come with me, or we can part ways here. You've helped me. Maybe there'll be something I can do for you, unlikely as that seems."

Fawkes appeared to consider this. When he thought he held very still, not shifting from foot to foot or moving his hands at all.

"I would rather not return to Megaton," he said. "But I will travel with you until you are fully healed."

"Okay," I said. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: No, Jay is not Jericho. He's an OC, just like Thistle. Thanks much to those who have already left reviews. _

6

I stopped on our way back by the pond for another mudpack and a quick refill of my water bottle. Fawkes stood at the top of the hollow and looked around as I did so. Sometimes he would shade his eyes with his hand again. I wondered why super mutants never wore sunglasses. Surely someone must have made some that large sometime. But then, a lot of the shades you see around are made from durable prewar stuff, and there were no super mutants to fit the glasses to back then.

I'd seen one or two of them wearing rough visors they'd obviously made themselves. Fawkes didn't have one of those. Just his old Vault 87 uniform, complete with original boots. I climbed up out of the hollow slowly. I had to stop to catch my breath up at the top. _Yeah. This is going to be a fun trip, I can tell already. _

"Fawkes," I said as we started off. Fawkes had my rucksack. He hadn't asked me if I wanted him to carry it. He'd taken it gently out of my hands about three steps out of the gas station.

"Yes, Thistle," he said now.

"Why do you wear that old suit?"

"It's the only thing I've ever owned," he said. "Other than this weapon, of course."

"Do you miss the Vault?" I asked.

Fawkes snorted. "No. My brethren could tell I was different, you see. All my life that I remember was inside one small room until my friend came and released me."

"So how'd you learn to talk like that?" I said. I waved a hand vaguely. "With all the big words."

"There was a functioning computer terminal inside the chamber," said Fawkes. "I had access to the Vault's databases. They were fairly extensive."

I thought about this for a bit. "So you taught yourself to use the computer _and _how to read."

"I suppose I did," said Fawkes.

I thought about him kneeling there in front of the terminal, poking at the inputs with his huge hands. (And he had to have knelt. No chair would hold him.) It must have taken years, taken patience like a stone. I couldn't think of a way to put that into words, so what I said was, "That must've been really hard."

"You mean for a super mutant?" said Fawkes. His voice was still sort of hard for me to read, but he didn't sound angry. That surprised me.

"No," I said. "I mean I couldn't have done it. I don't know many people that could." I thought about it. "Maybe Carol."

"Who is Carol?" asked Fawkes.

I told him about Carol, and her partner Greta, and how they asked me to look in on Gob every time they knew I was headed past Megaton. How they saw him as a son even though Ghouls can't have children.

"There's people who won't tolerate that, women who love women," I said. "Even some Ghouls. Carol and Greta have outlasted them all."

"I've sometimes been puzzled by the way humans arrange these things," said Fawkes.

"We all are," I said, thinking about Jay. If he'd been ugly as me, I'd probably have shot him. (My commentator says that can't be true, or I'd have tried to shoot Fawkes the first time I saw him. I think I've got a better sense of self-preservation than that.) "Although it's kind of funny to hear you call us _human. _ Smoothskins don't call us that."

"Nor do you call them human," said Fawkes.

"Yeah," I said. "That's true. It's a tricky word. What was it you called yourself before? A Meta-Human? Did you get _that _from the Vault database?"

"Yes," said Fawkes. "I first heard the term _super mutant _after I left." We walked for a little while. Presently he said, "I didn't want to identify myself with those who made me what I am."

"I understand," I said. And I did understand. And so should you, by the number of times I've called myself _Ghoul _so far. Sometimes it hurts me to remember what I used to look like, that I could've had children of my own if I'd wanted. Sometimes I'm grateful that I didn't know very many people back when I was Connie Garcia, so they won't recognize me and be horrified at seeing me this way. Sometimes I wish I'd known more, so they would miss me. And sometimes I just get angry at the way smoothskins will treat a Ghoul for being what we are.

I thought about that without talking for a while. It was better to use their name for me, even if it was an ugly one, than act like I wanted to be one of them. _Me and them. That's how it's going to be, _I thought glumly. _Maybe if I was a little more social it'd be _us _and them. Maybe I shouldn't spend so much time away from Underworld._

But I couldn't stay there all the time. I'd get lonely for the sky over my head. It wasn't very pretty out here, even with the greening in progress like it was supposed to be, but it was more home to me than Underworld was.

"It's not useful to hate," said Fawkes, breaking in on these thoughts. "However easy it might be."

"What?" I said.

"One of the things I read said we should hold nothing," said Fawkes. "If you meet a god, kill him rather than reverence him, because reverence ties you to something else. Love and hate are alike in this way. They bind you to others."

"True," I said. "If you don't love anything, you can't lose anything."

"It's a lesson I might have been wiser to learn from the start," said Fawkes, quietly for him.

"You mean because of your friend?" I said.

"Yes."

I'd never loved anybody. I'd liked a couple of people enough that I was sorry when bad things happened to them, but not like you would a brother or sister. _Or a husband or child_. "Maybe it's the only way," I said. "But if there's nobody else, what the Hell keeps you going?"

"I would like to see what happens next," said Fawkes.

That struck me as a good answer. I thought about it for the rest of the day's walk, until we came to the next water hole I knew. I judged at that point that I was about out of steam for the day. My belly hurt me a little bit and I didn't want to open it up further again. And the water ran down out of a high shoulder of rock, a place you could only get to from one direction. Fawkes seemed to like that. I went to sleep with my back to the wall of rock and Fawkes looming up between me and the rising moon.

I woke up late, and Fawkes was in the exact same place. That day I did my best to wash my clothes and all of my body except for the two small wounds. Fawkes took up a position with his back to me, scanning the horizon. He stood like that while I wrung the clothes out and put them back on, too. I let them steam dry as we walked on into the sun of the early afternoon. Damp clothes are uncomfortable, and I'd washed off maybe a square yard of myself, including almost all the surface of my right arm and hand, but I felt better for it anyway.

I'd heard somebody say once that wanting to be clean is what separates humans from animals. I don't think that's quite right, being as how I've met some humans who stayed filthy voluntarily. And mirelurks are pretty clean. Maybe it was just what separated me from yao guai.

We saw a couple of radscorpions that day. They sized us up and left us alone. Fawkes and me watched them scuttle off into the rocks. (Yeah, yeah, I know it's _Fawkes and _I.) They were each about four feet long. I lowered the plasma rifle when they were gone. Fawkes's gat was still hung up.

"You're not a real nervous person, are you," I said.

"Worry is unprofitable," said Fawkes. "And radscorpions very seldom attack anything so much larger than themselves as I am."

"Un huh," I said. "Probably not a lot of things do."

"You might be surprised," said Fawkes.

"I doubt it," I said, thinking about the nose of the gatling laser coming up over the edge of the hollow.

We walked some more. I did better that day, but I'd wasted enough daylight that morning that we still didn't get too far. I made a dry camp next to some radioactive rocks and ate the last of my jerky. Fawkes disappeared for an hour or so. I didn't ask, but I also didn't go to sleep until he came back. It was nice having a large, armed and sleepless person around. I'd have to watch that I didn't get too used to it.

It took us two more days to get to Megaton. I killed a wild dog and roasted the edible parts of it, such as they were. We talked a little sometimes, but not very much. I think we were both thinking about what we'd said before, about not getting too attached to people. I know I was. Fawkes, for all he was big and dangerous and his containment was frightening, was not hard to like. He gave you the impression that he knew exactly what he was going to do and when he would do it. If something came along and changed his plan, he would know what to do about that, too. People like that generally end up in charge of a lot of other people. If Fawkes had been an ordinary smoothskinned human, he could've written his own ticket. But then, if he'd been that, he would never have had to become what he was.

By the time we got to Megaton, I was completely healed up, just a couple of scars and a tender spot to show for it. We had to climb a rocky path to get to the town. Megaton was built in a steep crater in the middle of a ring of hills, walled up with bullet-pocked sheets of corrugated steel and pieces of the giant machines people used to build. There used to be beggars sitting around outside asking for clean water or caps to buy it with. Now there were people selling things. One tall, thin lady with her white nose sunburned red came up to us with a tray around her neck. I opened my mouth to tell her I didn't need any cigarettes, but she was looking at Fawkes.

"You could have saved him," she said, and she spat on him. Just like that. She couldn't reach high enough to spit in his face, but it made a small blotch on his torn jacket. I looked at Fawkes to see if he was going to take that. He just looked down at his jacket, then over at me.

"I'm glad we met, Thistle," he said. "But I must leave you now."

"I'm glad, too," I said. "Goodbye, Fawkes."

"Goodbye," he said, and turned away. I watched him go. He'd never acted as if the gatling laser weighed much of anything, but now he seemed to be carrying something heavy.

The thin lady had lost herself in the group of people when I turned back. Most of them didn't seem discouraged by the fact that I was a Ghoul, and certainly not by my stained clothes. One of them tried to sell me some slightly newer ones. I ignored him as I went up to the robot deputy and waited for him to trigger the big sliding door open so I could go into town.

There were still big rusty pipes all over the ground, parallel to the steep walkways. The water might not be radioactive any more, but it was a tradeoff. Irradiation kills germs. Now they didn't have the radiation to cleanse out, but they did have to worry about the bacteria. That wasn't a worry for me, but then, me and Gob were the only Ghouls in town as far as I knew.

I knew of one person in Megaton who would sell to me and wouldn't cheat me. _At least, not on purpose. _She tended to be absentminded. Once she'd sold me a stimpak for one cap and then tried to charge me a hundred for a lead pipe.

But then, that's Moira for you.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: One commentator points out that lore says feral Ghouls won't attack nonferal Ghouls. This is probably an error on my part based on my having played FO3 using a playable Ghoul mod – feral "creature" Ghouls will attack a nonferal Ghoul player character. _

_Moira's mercenary guard has no canonical name._

7

It's kind of a steep climb up to the Craterside Supply. The people who built Megaton realized before too long that there are some disadvantages to building inside a crater, one of those being that you end up with a lot of stuff built on the steep walls and you've got to get up and down somehow. The Megaton solution to this is a bunch of walkways made mostly from steel mesh, so you can look down and see just how far it is to the ground if the rickety walkway should happen to give way while you're on it.

I didn't have much time to worry about this, because I was busy keeping an eye on everyone else. A couple of kids had followed me from the front gate, yelling "Zombie!" at me, but I ignored them and after a while they went away. Other people would keep a wary eye on me as I passed, but I was doing the same to them, so that seemed about fair. The ones that might've thought about giving me trouble saw the plasma rifle and thought better of it. You see a pretty good number of weapons out in the open in Megaton, just like any other city in the Wasteland. Sheriff Simms tries to keep the peace, but there's only so much one man can do to maintain law and order here. Especially with scum like Moriarty digging out from under him with everything he tries to build. But things are what they are, and that's a story for another day.

Now, some of you reading this might be thinking I'd be better off to carry a small gun and work on a fast draw. There's fellas that do that. Even a few other women. Most of them die real young. There's always somebody faster than you. And most of the time a bad situation is something you can see coming if you're smart enough to look, not a matter of some moron coming up behind you and yelling _"Draw!" _

Which they only do to the kind of other morons who carry tied-down handguns, which, if I haven't lost my point again, is what I meant. (The person reading over my shoulder has been kind of quiet the last couple of minutes, but now he says one should not underestimate the value of deterrence, which I think means people are less likely to attack you if you carry a big gun.)

But anyway. I made it up to the iron deck in front of Craterside Supply without being out of breath. This represented a nice change from a lot of my recent experiences, which I took to be a good sign I was all healed up inside. The way the shop was put together was a very good example of how Moira Brown usually does things. The building was made from bits of corrugated steel and aircraft parts, just like most buildings in Megaton, and the deck out in front of it had a solid railing to prevent anyone falling off by accident. Moira probably thought of that because she likes kids. I have no idea why she thought it would be a good idea to use the nose cone from a dead aircraft as a roof. Maybe she was out of tin sheets. The huge rusty cylinder tipped kind of precariously over the deck as I came up.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was dusty and gloomy, except for the bright lights around Moira's workbench and the counter. A big, tan, stubbly guy with enough ammo hanging across his chest to keep a small war going stood leaning against one wall. He had one of those tied-down guns I mentioned earlier plus a shotgun tied across his back. I'd seen him here before, but I didn't know his name. He must have remembered me, too. He nodded once when he saw me.

"Is she here?" I said. The guard turned his head toward the doorless entry to the next room and said,

"Moira. Customer."

"Coming!" said a chipper voice. A minute after that, Moira herself came bouncing back into the room. She was small and trim, same as she'd always been, same as she probably still is. She always wears a blue jumpsuit with the Robco logo on the back. I've never figured out where she gets them. Probably convinces some sucker to bring them to her, same as most things she has there in the shop. She doesn't think of it like that, of course, which is why it works. The world looks a lot different from inside Moira's head. Everybody is her friend. Everything is new and interesting. And she wants all her friends to share her curiosity about everything in the whole wild world, including dust motes, geography, Wasteland wildlife, and exactly how much punishment a human body can take without dying.

Not that Moira would ever hurt anybody on purpose. As far as I knew, the big guy represented her one concession to the fact that the world contains bad people. I wondered if he was getting paid, or if he was another one of Moira's friends. He looked like a practical sort of individual. She was probably paying him.

"Well, Hi there!" she said. Moira talked with sort of a different accent, like maybe she came from somewhere a little West and a lot North of D.C. I never caught her saying "you betcha," but she sounded like she should. "I remember you! You're Thistle, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Hi, Moira."

"Hi!" she said, just like she hadn't already said that. "So what I can do for you today?" She scooted around behind the counter and leaned on it, looking up at me wide-eyed. I'm about four inches taller than she is when I stand straight.

"I need some ammo," I said. "Stimpaks. Food. Clean water if you got it. And if you got any clothes that might fit, I'll have a look at those, too."

"Sure," said Moira. She pushed a stray strand of dark hair back off her face. "I bet I have just the thing. Can I fix anything for you?"

"No, I'm good," I said. I prefer not to let anybody else work on my rifle. It's a little different from other plasma rifles and nobody knows it as well as I do, except maybe the guy I got it from. But he's all the way down in Rivet City and has his own stuff to worry about.

"You must've had kind of a rough time," she said, making the sympathetic face she makes when something bad happens, like a murder or a kid with a skinned knee. She rummaged around behind the counter, pulling things out and setting them on top while I dug out my leather money pouch from my rucksack.

"Could've gone better," I admitted.

"I don't suppose you have any water from out in the Wasteland, do you?" she asked, perking up again. "I'd trade you straight across for the clean stuff."

"Why?" I asked, pulling out my bottle of pond water.

"I'm doing a microzoological survey!" she said. "Since Project Purity there should be all kinds of new flora and fauna swimming around. But the water around here has been through the purifiers and it's just no good for what I want."

"Okay,"I said, having grasped that for some reason she wanted to look at tiny critters in dirty water. "Here you go." I pushed the bottle across the counter. She handed me a clean one. It sparkled slightly in the whirl of dust motes as I held it up to the light. Nice.

"Okay, let's see. Stimpaks, how many? Five?"

"Ten," I said, thinking of recent experiences.

"Ten it is. Can't be too careful! Cells for the plasma rifle, I've got a lot of those right now... Food. How about some salisbury steak and Dandee Boy apples? They're in the original packaging! And I'll throw in some crunchy mutfruit, too," said Moira. "How about jerky? I've got some more of that. Great. Gee, those clothes you've got on are just in _really _bad shape, aren't they? Let me see what I've got here." She set aside the things I had agreed to buy and rummaged some more. "Hm. You're kind of a tall lady. Let's see what I've got. How about these pants?" She held up some brown leather trousers. "They might be just a _little _loose, but they'll be the right length. Want to try them on? You can come back here behind the counter. Michael won't look, will you, Michael?"

"No, Moira," said Michael, which was apparently the guard's name. I was not worried he'd peek. Not a lot of smoothskins want to look at a naked Ghoul. I went around behind the counter, set the plasma rifle where I could reach it, and tried the pants on. Some merchants would've complained about shed skin if I hadn't bought them. Not Moira. Anyway, they fit okay and I just left them on. She sold me a matching vest to replace my ruined one, a dark gray linen shirt that might've been black once, and a gray felt hat with a big enough brim to keep the sun off. I kept my old belt and shoes. They were stained, but the leather was still good.

"I'll just wear them out," I said as I counted out the caps. "You got a trash can for these others?"

"Sure," said Moira. "Gosh. Did you get shot?" She held up the once-white shirt with the small hole in front and the big hole in back. Michael looked a little more interested at this.

"That's a big damn hole," he said. ".44?"

"Yep," I said.

"It'd take a pretty tough Ghoul, survive that," he said.

I shrugged. "I soaked up some rads and it healed fast."

"I know a guy who's looking for somebody tough," said Michael. "Name's Ratliff. He's bunking up at Moriarty's if you're interested. Kind of an asshole but he's got the money."

"Thanks for the tip," I said. "'Bye, Moira."

"Bye," Moira said, already headed to the back room with her bottle of pond water. Michael sort of rolled his eyes as I left.

What I ought to have done right then was get out of town and head East, quick as I could. I'd have to tell Tulip I didn't have her package and why. Somebody ought to. But then, I knew Carol would ask about Gob. She'd be disappointed if I didn't have anything to tell her.

And, I don't know if I mentioned this, I'm not a very good liar. Never have been. So as soon as I'd got out onto the deck, I turned and headed for Moriarty's Saloon.

Moriarty's sat in the middle of its own patch of mesh decking, not coincidentally close to Megaton's public restrooms. It is not a good idea to walk under the railing below here. Most Megaton residents know this. You can identify new people by the swearing that happens two seconds after they figure it out.

I shoved the door open and stood back for a second, waiting to see if anyone came staggering out. No one did. In the early afternoon I didn't really expect it, but you never know. I ducked into the dim main room, looking around. There was Gob, washing the bar, with the radio sitting there next to him playing songs from a time when there were no Ghouls and slavery was illegal. Gob wore the same dirty white tee shirt he always wore, though it had shrunk until it was tight across his big shoulders. I don't think Moriarty would let him have another one, the slimy old bastard. Gob had no hair and not a lot of skin left on him. The red surface of his muscles looked damp. Here and there his arms were purple. A muscle bruise hurts a Hell of a lot more than a surface one.

There was one guy sitting at the bar nursing a beer, but I'd seen him in here before. His name probably wasn't Ratliff. Three guys were back in a corner of the room, half-hidden from me by a table. They were talking, but I couldn't hear what they said. One laughed. I didn't see Nova anywhere. Maybe she was with a customer. Maybe with Moriarty. I'd rather cuddle up to a radscorpion. But then, whoring is one fate from which most Ghouls are safe, thank Atom.

I went up to the bar. "Hey, Gob," I said. He flinched first, like he thought I was going to hit him. Then he took a look under my hat.

"Oh. Hey," he said. "I seen you before?"

"Once or twice," I said. I laid a couple of caps on the bar. "Carol says Hello. There somebody here named Ratliff?"

Gob scooped the money quickly, looking around to see if anyone had seen. "Yeah, he's back in the corner over there. Guy with the bandoleer. Tell Carol and Greta I said Hi, will you?"

"Sure," I said. "Take it easy."

"Ha," said Gob.


	8. Chapter 8

8

I turned back toward the guys in the corner. All of them had guns, but only one had a bandoleer. He wore his hair in a dirty tail and he had a .38 on one hip. Tied down. I sighed quietly.

"Ratliff?" I said. He turned around and I got a good look past him. There was a pale man with dark hair cut short sitting slumped in a chair there. He had a black eye that had split, and blood matted his eyebrow and ran down his swollen cheekbone. More blood ran out of his nose and down his chin. His uninjured eye was a narrow slit, and I couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. He wasn't big, but he looked wiry under his blue jumpsuit.

"Yeah?" said Ratliff. He licked the brass knuckles on his right hand to show me how tough he was. "You want something, Zombie?"

"Michael over at Crater Side said you were looking to hire," I said.

"That's right," said Ratliff. The other two men turned to look at me now. "You think you're tough enough to run with this crew?" He waved a hand at the other two. They were both dirty and both wearing the same kind of stained leathers Ratliff was. One had a lumpy nose, like it'd been broken a few times, and the other had a cauliflower ear. I thought it was going to take an awful lot of caps offered for me to spend more than five minutes with them voluntarily.

"Depends on the job," I said.

Ratliff snorted. "Let's see how tough you a - "

He blinked at the the end of the plasma rifle, which was now less than an inch from his nose. The sound of the rifle's power rising to maximum was loud in the sudden silence. He'd been showing off for his buddies, working up to some kind of threat. I'd stolen his momentum.

"Kind of a small hole, isn't it?" I said. "Funny how that is. Up this close it would turn your head into a wad of green slime. Lose ten pounds of ugly fat in half a second."

"There's one of you and three of us, you zombie bitch," said one of the others.

"Uh huh," I said without moving. "That's not gonna do much for Ratliff here. But there's a chance you might get that gun out before I blow you all away. Want to race?"

He didn't want to race. He was used to beating up unarmed guys with a comfortable advantage in numbers.

"Take off," I said.

"Hey," said Ratliff. "You can't - "

"I've decided I don't want to work for you," I said. "So blow." I took a step back and to one side, putting my back to a wall and giving them room to walk out if they were so inclined. Ratliff's two buddies looked at him to see what he would do. He worked the fingers on his right hand for a second. The dumb bastard actually thought he could get me before I got him, even looking down the barrel.

That's not what happened, though. What happened was that the man in the chair rolled his head around and groaned.

"Better put him down again, Thomas," said Ratliff without looking away from me.

"Don't do that, Thomas," I said. Thomas, who was evidently the one with the cauliflower ear, looked from Ratliff to me. The wiry guy in the jumpsuit kind of shook his head, like it hurt him. Then he came out of the chair so fast it bounced off the wall. Thomas made an awful noise, clutching his throat where the man had hit with his bunched fingers. The second tough might have succeeded in shooting him if I hadn't blown his gun out of his hand. He lost a couple of fingers, too. He staggered back with a surprisingly high scream, and then the wiry guy kicked him in the balls and then rabbit-punched him behind the ear when he doubled over. He hit the floor with a thud. All of it had happened in an eyeblink.

"So what's your problem with this guy?" I said. The man in the blue jumpsuit stood there, looking at my rifle and at Ratliff.

"Gary," he snarled between his clenched teeth. One side of his lower lip was starting to swell.

"_That's _my problem," said Ratliff. "The smartass won't say anything else."

"Huh," I said. I lowered the plasma rifle a fraction. Ratliff decided to try his luck. His right hand swept down for the .38. The man in the blue jumpsuit beat me _and _Ratliff. He brought both fists around and smashed his tormentor in both sides of the head at once. The revolver went off into the floor. Ratliff hit the wooden boards a second later. I powered the rifle back down and slung it over my shoulder again.

"Come on," I said. "Before Moriarty gets here."

"Gary?" said the man in the jumpsuit, and I heard his footsteps behind me as I ran for the door. I started to run down the walkway outside. About halfway down I heard a thump from behind me, and I stepped aside just in time to avoid having him knock my knees out from under me as he slid past. He fetched up on the first landing and rolled back into a sitting position, shaking his head. I followed him down.

"You okay?" I said. He reached back and felt of the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody. I got down on one knee next to him and unslung my rucksack.

"They bounce your head off the wall a couple times?" I said. He nodded, but carefully. "You dizzy?" Nod. He wiped at his bloody nose with his sleeve. "You've maybe got a concussion, then. Well, come on. Doc Church can probably fix you up."

Fervent head shake. "No,"he said. _"Gary."_

"Gary who?" I said. He looked at me with a squint in his good eye, like maybe he was seeing double. Then he held up three fingers.

"Gary," he said again. He was deadly serious. I didn't think he was being stubborn. I was starting to think maybe he couldn't say anything else.

"Gary Three?" I said. "What's that supposed to mean?" He turned a little away from me, resting his head on one bent knee so I could see the back of his jumpsuit. It had _108 _in white letters on the back.

"That looks like a Vault suit," I said. "Vault 108?"

Another nod, this one very slight.

"Wait..." I said slowly. "I think I heard something about..."

Then I remembered. The rumor had made it all the way to Underworld, as rumors will. Some idiot had found Vault 108 with its door unsealed and gone in looking for loot. To hear him tell it, or at least to hear the secondhand version that got passed along, he barely escaped alive. The story was that the residents were violently insane. He was attacked by a mob with blunt weapons and fingernails and teeth less than two yards inside the door. He shot a bunch of them and got away. The detail that really made the story creepy was that every single one of the residents of Vault 108 was male, and they all looked exactly alike, same as twins. And not a single one of them spoke a word except for their own name.

"So you're one of the Scary Garys from 108," I said.

He raised his head and looked at me, tensing up a little, like he expected to have to fight or run. "Gary," he said, a little woozy now, and held up the three fingers again. Slowly. The hand was bloody where he'd wiped his nose and mouth.

"Gary 3," I said. "That's your name?"

He held up the fingers again.

"Just Three. Yeah, I wouldn't spread that around either, if I was you. Why don't you want to go to the doctor?" I said.

"Gary," he said. I tried to think of a good reason. If it was really true about the Scary Garys, all living in the same place and all looking alike and, most importantly, all about the same age, they couldn't be twins or anything like it. Not if there were as many as there were supposed to be. But you heard other rumors about the old Vault experiments, and some of them were supposed to have to do with...

"Is it because you're a clone?" I said.

This got me a slow nod, then a wince when that hurt.

"You think Doc Church will notice something like that while he's fixing up your busted head?" I said. "'Cause I don't."

Three looked at me. His face was all out of shape from the swelling and the bruises and the blood, but I could see the flat line his lips made. He wasn't going to the doctor. I could maybe wait for him to pass out and then drag him there, but I had a good idea what would happen if he woke up suddenly. I'd seen him fight like a demon without a weapon to his name.

"Okay," I said. "I've got some stimpaks. But then we've got to get out of town, okay? I don't know if you killed Ratliff - "

Three's little smile said he probably had.

" - But I wouldn't be surprised if somebody saw us." I dug one of my new stimpaks out of the rucksack and held it out dull-end-first. "You know how to use this?" I wasn't about to come at him with something sharp, not after what I'd seen in the bar. He took the stimpak, jabbed it into the back of his head, and pressed the plunger. It had to hurt, but he didn't make a noise. After a second he shook his head, then again, harder. As I watched, the swelling in his eye went down a little all at once. His nose stopped oozing.

"Need another one?" I said.

"Gary," said Three, which from the intonation I took to mean _no. _I got up out of the public walkway. Nobody had come by. Three stood up, graceful now that he wasn't concussed any more. We were about the same height.

"Okay, then," I said, and closed up the rucksack. "I'm getting out of town. If I were you, I'd get cleaned up and then do the same. Public restroom is that way."

I shouldered my rucksack and turned to go on down the next ramp. I turned off when I hit solid ground and headed across the bottom of the crater toward the steep exit stairs. (At this point I've asked my commentator why he got so quiet all of a sudden. He says he hasn't heard this whole part of the story before, since he left me outside Megaton before all of it happened. I say this for Fawkes, he does have the ability to shut up and listen once in a while.)

I was through the crowd of vendors outside and just turning toward the East when I heard running footsteps. I turned around. Three stopped a couple of yard short of me. We looked at each other. He was clean and he wasn't breathing hard, though he must have run fast to catch me.

"You want something?" I said.

"Gary," he said firmly. He tapped the back of his head with one finger.

"You're welcome," I said. "Was that all?" Three nodded. I turned around and started walking again. Three drew level with me a moment later, crunching along firmly in his Vault-issued boots. I stopped. He stopped. I started walking. He started walking.

I stopped again. "Three," I said. "Why are you following me?"

Same gesture. _Tap tap_. Great. Of all the violently insane clones in the Wasteland, I had to run into the one with the sense of obligation. I sighed.

"Okay," I said. "Suit yourself."

He touched the middle of his chest with one hand and raised his other one in the familiar three-fingers gesture. Then he pointed at me and raised his eyebrows.

"I'm Thistle," I said. "As far as I know I'm the only one."

Three opened his mouth and closed it. "Ga - " he started to say, and shut his mouth again. A muscle in his jaw twitched. I watched him struggle with it for another few seconds before he managed to say, "Gyaaaathis. This. Thistle."

"That's right," I said, and started walking again. "I'm going to Underworld. Have you ever been to D.C.?"

Beside me, Three shook his head.

"Good. Maybe none of your brothers has, either. While we're there we'll find you something else to wear. The 108 suit is a bad idea."

"Gary," he said cheerfully. If the hot sun bothered him, he showed no sign.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Nothing much happened for the next few days, bar me and Three walking and him not saying much. I'm not a talker ordinarily (this journal thing is about 400% more words than I would use if I were telling this story out loud) so I didn't say much, either. Sometimes he woke me up at night saying "Gary!" in a loud whisper, the kind of voice a kid will use when they're too scared to scream. The first time this happened I got up and found him curled up in a ball with his arms over his head, shivering. He was wrapped tight enough that a reassuring pat on the shoulder seemed like a bad idea. I sat down across from him and waited for him to calm down.

After a while he would sit up and look at me, sort of serious, and then he'd say "Gary," again in what I took to be a reassuring voice and he'd lay back down. (My commentator, which I might as well admit is Fawkes, says it's _lie _back down. I'm not sure if I believe him that there's a difference between _lie _and _lay_.) That happened about once per night. I think by Night Four I stopped waking up.

We ran into critters here and there. Mostly they left us alone. Things that will attack a lone person will sometimes leave two people be. Or maybe there was something about Three that they didn't like. (Do clones smell different than born people? Fawkes says he has no information on the point since his sense of smell is only slightly more acute than a human's. This makes it considerably better than mine owing to my only having part of a nose most of the time.) I saw at least one blowfly zoom in for a quick bite and veer off just out of his reach. The trip took maybe a little longer than usual because I had to swerve around the hot spots I'd normally walk right through, but by the end of the fifth day we were into the ruined outskirts of the city on the Western side of the Potomac River.

Anyone who's traveled much around here will tell you it's not so easy to get into Washington, D.C. A lot of the old on-ramps are collapsed or blown up, intersections are blocked by rubble (whether accidentally or on purpose), and if you run into a nice open stretch of road you'd better hit the dirt quick, before you get shot by raiders, mercenaries, or super mutants. Admittedly the last group mostly will leave us Ghouls alone, but you never can tell. Besides, I was traveling with a smoothskin. The average super mutant's view on normal humans seems to vary between "annoying" and "delicious."

I was looking around in the ruins for one of the less obvious entrances to the D.C. Underground where there used to be a working subway back before the world, or at least the old U.S. of A., blew up. About the only way to get across the Potomac that doesn't involve a bad risk of getting shot to death or blown up is to go through the subways. Those have risks of their own, whether animal or human or somewhere in between. (Which is where I would put the Ferals; the Raiders are too damn evil not to be human. My commentator here says that's an interesting bit of metaphysical reasoning. I get the feeling he doesn't totally agree but is being diplomatic again.) One of the first risks inherent is that the main plazas tend to be occupied by Super Mutants, so it's a good idea to keep in mind where the service doors are.

Three must've guessed some of this. He followed me without comment as I searched through the rubble, rifle powered up and being as quiet as I could. The clone was surprisingly quiet in his Vault boots, though I could still hear the soft scuff on pavement or an occasional crunch when we hit gravel. Clothing will make a sound, too, but if you wear soft fabrics that fit okay it's kept to a minimum. The Vault suit was a little loose for him and it tended to rustle.

There was very little sound. Sometimes I would hear the whine of a blowfly near us, or the quick scuttle of some smallish thing with too many legs – maybe a radroach. No birds sing in D.C. The vultures circle far overhead, patient and silent and permanent.

Eventually I found the stairwell I wanted in the back of a pile of rebars and broken slabs of concrete. There was a radroach in it. It rattled its wings at me and scuttled off. Three sniffed and looked at me. I nodded. The stink of urine was strong enough that even I could smell it. A person, or something like it, had been here recently. Not a Ghoul, or I'd have felt the rads. I stopped to tighten the straps on my rucksack and make sure it was on just tight enough before I went down the stairs.

I stood as far to one side as I could get without touching the wall. Then I nudged the door open with my foot. A dark hole opened behind it. I could feel Three behind me, a quiet breathing presence. This might have been more reassuring if I'd been able to think of him as totally stable. I let my eyes adjust to the dark before I went inside. There was a blind hallway there, short and perpendicular to the door. I could see the second door further down. That would lead through a set of small rooms and out into the main tunnel.

Three eased the door closed behind us. I looked back at him, to see if he was okay with the dark and the closeness of the walls. He nodded once. Maybe this was more natural for him than being out in the open. He'd grown up in a Vault, after all.

This hallway smelled like fresh cigarette smoke. Somebody had been here in the last few minutes. I swore, but silently. I could backtrack and look for another entrance, but that would take a long time and I'd probably find super mutants at the end of it. This was a risk, but it was the best available. I changed my grip on the rifle slightly, edged up beside the next door, and triggered it open.

There was a Raider standing right inside the door looking at me. He had on the spiky leather-and-metal armor they make for themselves and his hair was shaved half off. His eyes glowed faintly red. That was about all I had time to take in before he went for a knife and I blew his head into goo. The body staggered a step forward and I had to get out of the way, and then I heard the sharp _pew _that only a laser pistol makes. A red beam chipped the concrete on the back wall right where I'd been standing.

Back then I was used to only worrying about myself. I'd reckoned without Three. Maybe he knew that. Anyway, he brushed past me too fast for me to shoot him just by reflex. He dove into the room at about knee-level. "What the Hell--?" I started to say, and then there was another shot and I heard him grunt like it had hurt him, and I stepped around the doorpost with the rifle up.

I was just in time to see him do a dive roll between the legs of a tall Raider girl. She was about half-dressed in rags and so skinny she had to hold onto the laser pistol with both hands. She was starting to turn around when he popped up behind her, grabbed her head, and yanked it around until she was looking at me again. I heard her neck snap, loud as a gunshot. She was looking right at me when the light went out behind her red eyes.

I've seen that before, looking someone in the eyes while they die. I never liked it. I would think about that person just stopping, just _gone, _and it froze me down to the bone. It didn't matter if two seconds before they were trying to snuff me. Dead is dead. Even by that point in my life I'd had to shoot a good number of people. I never looked them in the eyes if I could help it.

I just stood there and stared until Three let go and the girl's body fell to the floor with a slithering _thump. _Three came up with the pistol. He must have caught it as her fingers let go, reflexes as scary fast as the first time I'd ever seen him.

I shook my head and turned to scan the room, rifle at the ready. My stomach steadied down as I made myself think about things that happen in the land of the living. There was nobody there. The two Raiders had probably been using it to shack up in. There was one mattress up against the wall with a rumpled, stained blanket wadded up on one end. I was prepared to see more bodies, but evidently they hadn't been here long enough to nail up their larder yet. I could see where one of them had been drilling a hole in the ceiling, probably to hang a meat hook. There was one metal table with a cigarette still burning in a chipped ashtray and a greasy pack of cards scattered over it.

"Gary?" said Three. I turned to look at him. He was looking at me sort of worried.

"I'm okay," I said. "What about you?"

He nodded. There was a scorch mark in the fabric of his jumpsuit up on the right shoulder. It might have grazed him, nothing more. Laser burns sting like a mother, though. I've had a couple. (Fawkes says not as bad as plasma burns. Meaning, I suspect, that he knows which part of the story is coming up here pretty soon.)

Three held out the laser pistol butt-first.

"Why don't you keep it?" I said.

He looked at the pistol, and at the dead Raider girl and back at me. He shook his head. "Gary."

"That attitude's gonna get you killed, you know," I said. I took it anyway and stuck it in my belt. "You're pretty goddamned fast. You're just not faster than a bullet."

Three showed me a weird little smile. He shrugged as if to say _Who cares?_

"You must care at least a little," I said. "Otherwise how'd you get all the way from Vault 108 to Megaton alive?"

Three raised his eyebrows, like maybe I'd surprised him.

"Come on," I said. "Let's make sure there's nobody else here."

The dirty little set of rooms – maybe it had been offices once – was still a dirty little set of rooms. It was dark and stuffy and full of overturned desks and dusty piles of junk. I was glad when we finally found the last inside door and it hissed apart to reveal the comparatively bright and airy tunnel of the White Line. The old directions on the wall are still there for those who know how to read them. Once you get under the Potomac and over to the East side, the White crosses the Black line and you can take that South to the Museum station. Underworld is there inside the Museum.

It's not that complicated, but it is a long and dangerous walk. I told some of this to Three as I looked up and down the tunnel. The Raiders had probably cleaned out whatever was alive in this area. The girl had looked pretty lean. I figured there hadn't been much to begin with.

"You up for this?" I asked Three. He nodded.

"Gary," he said affirmatively.

"Okay," I said. "East it is."


	10. Chapter 10

10

We went on down the tunnel. Here and there we'd have to climb over piles of bent rebar and dusty asphalt, or through the burnt-out hulk of a dead train. Tetanus isn't something a Ghoul has to worry much about, being as how it's caused by a microorganism that can't live on us, and Three seemed to have no problem avoiding sharp things. But then, it wasn't totally dark. I don't know what keeps the ancient generators going, down there in the belly of the earth, but there are lights on day and night, summer and winter. Some have gone out as time went by, but there's still enough light to see your feet.

It was quiet for a long time. We didn't run into so much as a radroach. After a while this started to worry me a little bit. It takes a significant threat to keep a stretch of tunnel clear for any length of time. Living things in the Wasteland may be awful to look at, but there are lots of them and they are persistent when it comes to carving out a space to live in. For the tunnels to be so empty there must be a good-sized appetite or a real threat down here, bigger than two half-starved Raiders. Maybe a Feral Ghoul pack. I didn't want to run into one of those down here. An unarmed human, even a Raider, is usually smart enough not to charge a loaded weapon. Not Ferals. With a plasma rifle I probably wouldn't get them all before they swarmed me. To get at Three, at clean human flesh, they would do that in a heartbeat.

So I went slow and I listened hard. I don't know how much of this reasoning occurred to Three. Anyhow, he didn't complain about the pace, not so much as a _Gary _out of him. Maybe he just knew it wasn't a good time to make a noise.

It's hard to judge distances down there. We might have gone two miles when we saw the side tunnel opening up ahead. Someone had set up sandbags and a couple of half-gone concrete barriers between us and it. There was a card table and a chair lying crushed on our side of them. Both were full of laser burn holes. We crept up quiet as mice, but nobody was there. No bodies, nothing.

I heard a sound. It might have been a shuffling footstep. I stopped in my tracks, waiting for another one. Three stopped beside me, and I saw him tilt his head like he was listening, too. Dust spiraled in the permanent half-light. I heard it again. A boot scuffing on the asphalt, maybe someone shifting their weight as they stood. It wasn't far away. Probably right around the bend into the cross tunnel ahead. Whoever it was stood too far back for his shadow to fall into the main tunnel.

He started walking. Heavy, solid footfalls, feet in big boots. I recognized the sound. I'd heard it only a few days ago. _Super mutant. Down here? _Well, that would explain why the tunnel was empty. An armed mutant might be able to coexist with a pack of Ghouls – Ferals are crazy, but mostly they're not _that _crazy – but he would clean out everything else right enough. Evidently the Raiders had settled in down at the other end of his range, or maybe he just hadn't noticed them yet. That didn't really matter. What mattered was that he was coming toward the main tunnel. I got down behind one of the barriers as fast and quiet as I could with Three right beside me. I powered up the plasma rifle, muffling the sound with my body, and tried not to think about the fact that super mutants were very seldom found in groups of less than two.

Three's booted foot _crunched _on a crumbly bit of something as he settled. I froze. He winced. The sound of footsteps stopped, and then I heard the mutant's rumbling snarl:

"_I know you're there. Stop hiding!" _

I thought fast as the footsteps picked up, and I heard the change in the sound as he stepped out into the main tunnel not twenty yards from us. I might – _might – _be able to take down a super mutant with one shot from a plasma rifle, but only if I took his head off on the first shot. After that I'd be in for a hard few minutes trying to avoid a huge, fast, berserk creature in a confined space. Nothing for it. I let him take another step toward us before I stuck my head up over the barrier, rifle ready. He loomed up huge between us and the light, just a big black shape, and I heard the whine of an energy weapon starting to power up as I fired at the top of the dark silhouette.

He must have guessed where I was. He ducked to one side as I was firing and the glob of plasma took a chunk out of his right shoulder. It staggered him, and he took a step back under one of the ceiling lights that was still working, and I was just about to shoot him in the head for real when I realized he was wearing no armor.

Just the shreds of a blue Vault suit.

And a gatling laser.

"Oh, _shit,_" I said, and hit the dirt as he took advantage of my paralysis to grab the laser's barrel with his left hand and take aim. Lasers pinged off the barrier as I hid behind it. "Fawkes!" I shouted, but the gat drowned it out. Three was staring at me with his hands over his ears, apparently trying to figure out what the Hell was wrong with me. He scuttled crabwise over to the end of the barrier and peered around it for a second. I watched him gather himself, like an animal getting ready to pounce.

I grabbed his ankle. He twisted around violently until I let go, and then we were face to face. He was frowning, nostrils flared.

"Sorry," I said, still mostly inaudible over the roar of the gat. Fawkes seemed to be firing indiscriminately now, lost to that bloodlust I'd seen once in a mudhole out in the Wastes. "I can't let you do that."

"Gary?" he demanded.

The lasers stopped coming, and I heard the while of the cylinder spinning as Fawkes waited for it to charge all the way up.

"I know him," I said. "First, you'll just get killed. You can't kill a super mutant with your bare hands. And second, I owe him."

"_Gary?" _said Three, apparently stunned.

"We're probably not going to live long enough for me to explain," I said. I had to raise my voice to be heard over the gatling laser powering back up to full.

Then it powered back down.

There was silence. I heard the super mutant panting, heaving air in and out like some hydraulic juggernaut from an earlier age.

"Fawkes?" I said from behind my barrier. There was a drawn-out growl that I felt through the tunnel floor.

"_One... Moment... Please..." _said Fawkes, and in that hard staccato I heard him trying to fight his way back to sanity. The hole where I'd shot him had to hurt like Hell. (Which, Fawkes is now pointing out, he said earlier. I'm going to ignore him.)

I waited for what seemed like more than five minutes. Three held himself very still, obviously confused about what was happening. Fawkes's breathing gradually grew calmer. Then I heard him speak again. His voice still vibrated with harsh bass, but it was under palpable control.

"You sound... like a Ghoul," he said. I powered down my rifle. Beside me, Three looked at me like he thought I'd gone insane.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm Thistle. You remember me?"

"I remember," said Fawkes.

"I didn't know it was you," I said.

"So I supposed," said Fawkes. "You may stand up if you wish. I will not harm you."

Three shook his head quickly.

"It's okay," I told him. "This is Fawkes." I straightened up as I slung the rifle back over my shoulder. Fawkes was in the process of hanging the barrel of his gat back onto the backpack with his left hand. It should have been awkward. It wasn't. I hissed between my teeth as I saw the wound I'd caused. Fawkes's right shoulder now hung slightly lower than his left, because I'd blown off a chunk of the muscle that connected it to his neck and collarbone. (The trapezius, says Fawkes, who is still reading over my shoulder and, not that I should have to point this out, _still breathing down my neck._) A plasma burn will cauterize any vessels it hits, but because it keeps burning for a few seconds the damage has a tendency to spread.

I swore under my breath. "I'm sorry. Here. I've got some stimpaks." I shrugged out of my rucksack as I came forward. I heard Three jump up and follow me. Fawkes's head turned to watch him.

"I don't know your friend," he said, like we'd just met in the street. I knew the shoulder still hurt, but his voice was now the voice I knew. The transformation was complete.

"This is Gary 3," I said. "He prefers to be called Three. It's hard for him to talk. He mostly just says his name. I met him in Megaton. If you kneel down I can reach that."

"Gary," said Three suspiciously. He stared up at Fawkes. The super mutant looked down at him. Then he got down slowly on one knee so I could deal with his shoulder. This put him just about at Three's eye level, same as mine. They looked at each other, Gary narrow-eyed, Fawkes unreadable as usual.

"Hello," said Fawkes. Three nodded curtly. "Are you by any chance a clone?"

Three looked at me, then back at Fawkes. He did not look any happier. I came up with the first stimpak and applied it to Fawkes's shoulder. The wound got fractionally smaller. Tendrils of muscle grew slick and dark from the side of the mutant's thick neck. "How'd you know that?" I asked.

"I've told you I learned a great deal from the database in Vault 87," said Fawkes. "There were some notes on other Vault-Tec projects. I understood them to be entirely theoretical. Apparently I was wrong."

"There was something in there about the Scary Garys?" I said.

"Not by that name," said Fawkes. The exposed nerve endings the stimpak had created must feel like I was flaying him alive, but he watched with apparent calm as I got out another stimpak. "You should not use all your medicine."

"I've got more," I said. "Talk to me about the clones. Three can't tell me much."

"There may be things you won't wish to hear," Fawkes said to Three. I applied the second stimpak. Muscle began to grow together out of the plasma burn. I swallowed as Fawkes very deliberately lifted his right shoulder so they could reach one another properly.

Three looked at me. He was frowning now, but it wasn't an angry look.

"It's up to you," I said. "I trust Fawkes. He helped me out of a jam not too long ago."

"I am flawed, as you've seen," said Fawkes. "But I am not a dishonest person." The heavy dignity of this must have convinced Three. He nodded slowly.

"Okay," I said, and came up with yet a third stimpak. "Tell us about clones."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: The age of the extant Garys is an issue not canonically addressed, but consider – the Vault experiments were started when the Vaults were first entered and closed at the time of the war some 200 years ago. There are no old Garys and there are no numbers 30 or higher in Vault 108 if you enter it in the game. There is no way for the Garys to reproduce other than possibly recloning each other, although given their apparent impairments that seems unlikely through generations. It's an interesting if probably unintentional implication on the part of BethSoft._

11

"The experiment in Vault 87 was supposed to involve multiple clones of one individual," said Fawkes. "I believe the intent was to offer an alternative model of social interaction. The abstract I read suggested this person be chosen based on the stability of their genetic code. It also suggested they be female so that the effect of cloning on the mitochondrial DNA could be studied." He looked at Three. "It appears the experiment wasn't carried out as planned."

Three snorted. "Gary," he said dryly.

"Exactly," said Fawkes. "I don't suppose you know the surname of that original subject?" Three shook his head. I was on my fifth stimpak now. It was probably going to be the last, since the hole in Fawkes's shoulder was almost closed up. That left me with four. Good thing I'd bought so many to start with. _Be an even better thing if I hadn't _shot _him._

"A subset of the experiment was supposed to involve cloning one or more of the clones," said Fawkes. "I'm afraid the abstract was quite clear on the purpose of this. Vault-Tec's scientists wished to know if creating a copy of a copy would produce imperfect results."

Three stared at him. Then his shoulders shook with harsh and silent laughter. His face twisted up until it was horrible to look at, a demon's grimace.

"Three," I said. I didn't know how he'd react if I touched him. "Three, stop it." The sound of my voice seemed to reach him. He shook himself and looked at Fawkes, then back at me.

"Gary," said Three hoarsely. His eyes were blue and very, very cold.

"You knew?" I said. Three held up one finger. Then two. Then three. "Yeah. You were third." I thought about that, and about his reaction. "You were a copy of Gary 2, weren't you. Not of the original Gary." It wasn't really a question. The answer was obvious. There were no hairless scars on his scalp to suggest a head injury that would steal his ability to speak. He'd probably been born the way he was. "How many were there, total?" I asked.

He looked at me for a moment, evidently trying to figure out how to convey the number. _So more than ten. _"More than twenty?" I asked.

Three nodded.

"Thirty?" He shrugged. One hand waggled back and forth in a maybe-so-maybe-no gesture. He held up one open hand, four fingers, and then smacked it with the closed fist of his other hand.

"I don't understand," I said.

"I do," said Fawkes unexpectedly. Three turned to look at him. "The abstract was worded," he apparently searched for a term, or tried to fit a super mutant's tongue around it. _"Circuitously. _But it was clear what was to be done with clones who were obviously damaged at birth or after five years of the teaching program. I believe he's trying to convey that Gary 4 was another secondary copy and was terminated. Is that correct?" Gary raised his eyebrows as he nodded. I reminded myself that, being who he was, he might never even have heard of Fawkes and the Vault Dweller, might not even have run into a _regular _super mutant.

"But they didn't kill you," I said. "Did you used to be able to talk?"

Three shook his head. He looked at Fawkes again, already betting on his ability to guess the answer over mine. (Fawkes says this is not a fair statement, as he had access to information which I did not. It seems to me that what information you have and how you use it is a good chunk of what it means to be smart or dumb, but Fawkes says that is a lengthy debate for another time.)

"He would have been retained as a control group," said Fawkes, and Three nodded vigorously.

"It wasn't a Vault-Tec egghead that taught you how to move like you do," I asid. "Not if they were holding you prisoner and killing your brothers. They'd have known better." Three looked at me patiently while I thought. He seemed calmer now, able to discuss it (or whatever) more rationally. "But then, I can't imagine they planned to keep more than 20 clones around, either. In a Vault around 10 would be comfortable, if there had to be scientists and techies there to keep an eye on them all the time. Am I right, Fawkes?"

"To the best of my knowledge, yes," Fawkes said.

"So the experiment got away from them," I said. "Which I guess should be obvious, given that 108 is full of nothing but Scary Garys right now. Which means the scientists are all gone or they're dead. They'd be dead anyway. The Vaults were sealed back when the War started. But that would mean..." I looked at Three. "How old are you?"

Three looked at me. He looked at Fawkes. He held up one finger. Nine fingers. Five fingers.

"A hundred and ninety-five years is very old, for a human," said Fawkes. "And if what I have read is correct, it was once true that clones were born with the same Hayflick Limit as the donor from whom they were cloned."

"Run that by me in English?" I said. "Or even Spanish. I don't speak _scientista_."

"The clone might be an infant," said Fawkes. "But each cell in his body would believe it was as old as the donor. The chromosomes would grow short quickly. He would die young." Fawkes's shoulder was completely healed now, but he stayed there on one knee, I guess because it was easier to continue the conversation that way. "Meta-Humans have modifications that allow our chromosomes to regenerate their length with little long-term damage. Thus, we do not age in the same way as ordinary humans. Something like this must have been done to the clones."

"And then they started cloning themselves?" I said. "And they managed to keep the Hayflick Limit thing, but couldn't prevent the speech impediment – am I right, Three?"

He made the maybe-so gesture again. He poked a thumb at his chest and shook his head. Then he showed two fingers again.

"You didn't clone yourself, but Gary 2 did?" I guessed. Gary smiled slightly, maybe a little sadly. I was on a roll, so I kept guessing. "And he just kept on. So then there were a whole bunch of Garys who were born hating anybody who wasn't a clone and couldn't communicate with anybody well enough to learn different. Right? That's why they try to kill anybody who wanders in there."

That earned me a firm nod.

"You must be brave as Hell, then," I said. "To have left after all this time when you can't hardly talk."

Gary bit his lip. "Gaa," he said. "Gyaaa_I can,_" he said, and stopped. I watched him mouth _Gary _a couple more times before he managed to spit out, "A little_._"

"Seems about like pulling teeth," I said. Three nodded. "And it doesn't get better with practice?"

He shrugged. "Thistle," he said, and only clenched his teeth a little bit.

"We will have to see that you have opportunity to practice," said Fawkes. He got slowly to his feet, rolling his newly-healed shoulder carefully.

"We?" I said. "Fawkes, I'd love to have you along. But I've got to go to Underworld. I owe Tulip an explanation for what happened to the package she's expecting."

"That is not a problem," said Fawkes.

"Somebody might hassle you," I said. "Like that hag outside Megaton. I don't want to see you get spat on again."

Three looked between us like he didn't quite believe what he was hearing. I'd only known him a few days but I was very damn sure what would happen to someone who spit on Three. He wouldn't even think about it; it would be next door to a reflex. He probably couldn't figure somebody who would just stand there. But then, he didn't know Fawkes yet.

"To refuse a burden rightfully yours is cowardice," Fawkes said. "You know this is true, or you would not be returning to explain your failure."

"You lost me with that one," I said.

"I doubt it," said Fawkes.


	12. Chapter 12

12

So Fawkes came with us. He seemed to want to. I wasn't sure why. If he was willing to go along with me through miles of dark smelly tunnel with a bunch of other Ghouls at the end of the trip, why wouldn't he go into Megaton?

I knew the answer to that now, though. Megaton reminded him of the Vault Dweller, and people there remembered him, and from that he had run away as fast as he could go. Physical pain he just shrugged off. If I'd only known it, I could've hurt him worse with a harsh word than I had with my plasma rifle. I shook my head at this. If the other two noticed they didn't say anything.

"Fawkes, can I ask a question?" I said. There was no chance of going quiet now, not with those enormous boots crunching along beside us.

"Yes, of course," replied Fawkes.

"What were you doing down here?"

"In point of fact, I was on my way to Underworld," said Fawkes.

I glanced up at him. I don't have eyebrows, but a certain lift in the general brow region is possible for me. Not that he could probably see that. The tunnel section we were in was loud with the crackle of dying electronics and a lot of the lights were out. I wasn't worried. Things that would jump me and Three would run like scared radroaches from me, Three and Fawkes. (Fawkes here says it should be Fawkes, Three and me. I don't see why. He's kneeling behind my chair now, the better to read over my shoulder without getting a kink in that thick neck of his.)

"Why?" I asked.

"Thistle," said Gary, evidently determined to practice.

"Yes," said Fawkes, talking over my head. "I assumed she would return there." It took a second for me to catch on.

"How'd you know?" I said.

"You told me you've been there before," said Fawkes. "Most Ghouls return to Underworld at some point."

"It might've been a long wait," I said.

"Yes," said Fawkes. "I was prepared for that possibility."

I stopped talking to circumvent a hole in the floor. Fawkes just stepped over it. His foot came down on a protruding rebar, which made an awful creak as it bent under his weight.

"But why?" I said. "We met what, two weeks ago? You did _me _the favor, not the other way around. And what happened to all that talk about detachment?"

Fawkes grinned. I know that sounds impossible, since he can't un-bare his teeth, but he did. Maybe his mouth went up at the corners.

"A flaw in the philosopher does not constitute a flaw in the philosophy," he said. "I note that you haven't managed to achieve detachment in my absence." He looked over my head at Three again.

"Well, yeah," I said. "But that's only because he insisted."

Three snorted. "_Gary_," he said. "No." After a little more struggle he managed to say "Moriarty's. _Garygarygary was. _Your. Decision." These last two words came out between his clenched teeth again. I could see sweat shining on his forehead when the nearest light flickered on it and lit up his face.

"You mean if I hadn't messed with Radcliff none of it would've happened," I said.

Three nodded.

That led to my explaining to Fawkes exactly what had happened in the bar. Fawkes said that it was a good thing I'd bought so many stimpaks, since I was apparently quite free in my use of them. (I can feel him chuckling behind me now, shaking my chair.) Three managed to convey, in bits and scraps of words in between much _Gary-_ing, that the fact I was willing to jump up and haul out the stimpaks for a wounded super mutant was probably reason enough for Fawkes to come looking for me again.

Which was an implication that Fawkes had understood right away, of course. He always does.

"Like I said," I told Three now. "I owe him. He helped me out after that bastard Jay shot me in the gut trying to get Tulip's package off me. I shot it to pieces and he took off. That's why I'm going to back to Underworld now, to tell Tulip why I don't have it."

Three nodded again. He was breathing hard, like talking was harder than running, and when the light hit his face sometimes he squinted his eyes like it hurt. Whatever was wrong inside his head had been that way for a long, long time. It wasn't going to go away in a day.

"This is the first I have heard of this package," said Fawkes.

"It was a nightie and underwear. And somebody wanted it bad enough to pay Jay to get it, which means they wanted it _real _bad."

"Gary?" said Three. I suspected it was going to be a while before we got any other words out of him.

"That's kind of a long story," I said.

"We have considerable time," said Fawkes. I looked over at Three. He nodded.

"Okay," I said, and told them about McPherson and Jay. It wasn't really a long story. I just didn't like talking about it that much. There's a gap a lifetime wide between me and Consuelo Garcia – _Call me Connie, everyone else does - _and it kind of stings to try and look back across it. After that, I told them about escorting the older lady from Underworld, how she'd given me the package to take back, and how Jay had ambushed me and I'd blown up the underwear. Three laughed at that. He didn't make any noise, but I saw his shoulders twitching.

"Then he left," I concluded. "So I laid up next to the pond where I could soak up the rads. Fawkes came there to get to the water. You know the rest." Three nodded.

"I am surprised this acquaintance of yours did not attempt further violence," said Fawkes.

"Not Jay," I said. "I've seen his type before. There's not much he cares about one way or the other. He'd probably torture somebody if somebody else paid him to. He just wouldn't do it for fun or like that. Nobody gave him money to kill me, just to get the package."

"Gary," said Three thoughtfully.

"I have encountered such a perspective," said Fawkes. "Though I cannot agree with it. It's odd that he left you a stimpak."

"Yeah," I said. "Normally he's got no more feelings than a mirelurk. Less. They care about their eggs. Maybe he just did it because he could."

"I doubt I will ever understand human beings," said Fawkes. "Though I once was one. I'm not certain whether the loss of memory is a curse or a blessing."

"Yeah," I said. "Me, neither. And I got all mine still."

Beside me I heard Three sigh. I guess he agreed. Things must've been pretty bad in old 108 for him to leave everything he knew and go roaming out into a world full of people he couldn't talk to. Maybe they'd run out of food and were eating each other. That's happened a lot in what's left of the world now. Or maybe he'd spent the last hundred-odd years watching his sort-of parent and sort-of brothers going crazier all the time. Or, given how fey he was (which is a word I got from my helpful friend here because before this I thought it meant, you know, girly), maybe he was just ready to die and wanted to see the actual sky first.

That probably wasn't it. I'd never seen anybody fight so hard without a weapon. Once in a while you run into somebody with an anger that deep and wide and hot, a fire in their belly fit to burn the whole world. Maybe two hundred years ago they'd have locked him up. I guess the lab coats in 108 had tried. It wasn't hard to see why he'd latched onto me. I was probably the first friendly face he'd seen, Atom help the man.

We walked. And walked. There's not really a day or a night down in the Underground, and climbing to the surface isn't a good idea if you don't know what's apt to be waiting for you when you get there. At least I knew that when we got to the Museum there wouldn't be anything worse than Willow waiting up top.

I don't carry a watch. They're worth their weight in gold and more now, since there's only so many Pre-War ones and hardly anybody knows how to build them. So I can't tell you how many hours it was before we got to Metro Central. It seemed like more than eight, but it could've been five or six. We felt the draft first of all, blowing down the tunnel cool and quiet.

"Fresh air," said Fawkes. "We are near a station." Three nodded.

"Should be Metro Central," I said. Fawkes agreed with this, which made it sound like he'd been down there before. He probably had. There's not that many ways to get around in D.C. I took the rifle off my shoulder and powered it up as we moved down the tunnel. Metro Central is three floors of big open spaces with a bunch of ways in and out. Spaces like that attract Ferals and Raiders. I'd snuck past last time I was here, but there was no chance of that with Fawkes. (Who, by the way, thinks _snuck _is not a word. I can't imagine why. I hear it all the time.)

And if there weren't Ferals or Raiders, then there was always the chance of getting shot by someone passing through, whether on the off chance that we might be one of the above, or just because they had a missile launcher and caught a glimpse of a super mutant. If you've lived long enough in the Wasteland to find this terminal and read what I'm typing, you've probably learned that there is always an idiot with a big gun when you least want to see one. And he will be stupid enough to fire it underground. So I was feeling pretty tense by the time we saw the opening up ahead.

The tunnel opened out into a high and dusty space with a platform high up between the dead escalators and the tracks running each way below it. Right in front of us was the stairwell down to the Red line. An old train bulked large in the dim on our left, and there was another on the other side of the platform. Someone had nailed together two-by-fours so they formed a sort of walkway along the top of the farther one, commanding a good view of the area. That was new since I was last here. So was the set of dividers down beside it. They were made of corrugated steel and more two-bys. Even from where we stood, I could see the spray paint on them. I couldn't read the words. I didn't have to. There are only so many bad words in English and some of them are too long for most Raiders to spell.

There were no heads showing. Maybe we could just pass them by. I pointed down the stairwell and looked at the others. Three nodded. Fawkes unlimbered the gatling laser. "I suggest you remain here," the super mutant said. "It would be helpful if you were to insure I am not attacked from above." He spoke quietly, for him, but I had to stifle a wince at the rumble through the soles of my feet. It was just possible someone on the other side of the platform might miss it. Maybe.

"Okay," I said. "Three, you probably should stick with me." Fawkes tended to get a little crazy with the gat and I didn't want Three getting shot up while he was trying to get at someone barehanded. I edged over to the side of the tunnel mouth as Fawkes marched forward and down out of sight.

I held the rifle and waited. Beside me Three settled into a squat, looking around with bright, cold eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Fawkes is very prone to attack unprovoked in the game if an NPC or creature is "hostile" to the player. Admittedly he's not as bad as Charon in that regard. (But we'll save Charon for the next fic, should there be one.)_

13

I heard the protesting creak as Fawkes went down the old stairs. He didn't seem worried about snipers, which at the time struck me as odd for somebody as smart as he is. (I did find out why later, but I'm not going to spoil that one. My commentator here says there is a reason, however peculiar, behind everything he does. He made me type _peculiar _twice, too. I spelled it wrong the first time.)

After that there was quiet for a long few seconds. I crouched there and strained my ears to hear below and around me. Beside me, Three held still, probably doing the same. I could see something stirring behind the rickety setup across the platform, but I couldn't tell how many were there or what they were doing. Even if they knew to look for us, they shouldn't be able to see Three and me in the shadow of the tunnel mouth.

There was a single gunshot from below. I held my breath, listening for the return fire or for the heavy sound of a giant body falling. There was another gunshot. Another. Whoever it was had some kind of rifle; the sound is different from a handgun.

"MY TURN!" screamed Fawkes, and the tunnel shook around me. Then the roar of the gat cut loose, and the giant rattle of it echoed in the big space like the sky was falling.

Raiders came running out from behind the wood barriers across the platform from me. I counted four as they came straight toward the stairway, running across the platform as best they could in the weird mismatched assortment of shoes they were wearing. Two of the four had submachine guns and were already firing wild bursts toward the stairwell, though there was nothing they could hit that way.

Footing was uneven over the broken concrete and garbage. It slowed them down a little. I had plenty of time to draw a bead on the fastest one and shoot him through the chest. (Some men will tell you they can shoot a running man through the head at two hundred yards. They're mostly lying. The few that can do a thing like that don't flap their lips about it.) At that range it didn't cut him in half, but it did make a big enough hole that I could see the woman behind him through it before he dropped. I took off her right arm at the shoulder before she got to cover. Then all three of them were behind the escalators, letting the dead man's kicking body lie as the plasma went on burning him.

(Fawkes says it would add a humorous historic aside if I were to note that there was a time in this country when men would not shoot a woman. I ask him why. He says it's because women were mostly unarmed and were considered to need careful protection. I think he must be making it up. Sounds like crazy talk to me.)

"Not to worry," I told Three. "I never saw a Raider could hit much of anything from a distance. After a while they'll get mad and charge us again, and it'll be easy pick - "

Three was already gone, dodging behind a pile of old lockers to my left. I sighed, but quietly. _Fawkes is stronger, Three is faster, and I'm the only one who isn't batshit crazy. Lucky me. _I took a quick look around, making sure all the noise hadn't drawn anything else. Nothing was coming up the tunnel behind me, which was a comfort. I waited for a break in the random bursts of automatic fire before I dove for the cover of the lockers myself. Three wasn't there any more. I risked a peek around one side of them, where my face would be in shadow. A Ghoul's face is easier hid than a smoothskin's, because the blotchiness breaks up the outline.

One of the Raiders was halfway visible in the shadow of an escalator, firing at something off to my left. Three must be in the trench of the old tracks where I couldn't see him. I edged carefully over to that side, took aim, and fired. The hairy leg I could see disappeared in an explosion of gore and goo. I heard a scream, too high and primal to be taken for male or female, and then the Raider fired a couple of random bursts and keeled over backward out of my sight. He wouldn't bleed to death, not from a plasma burn. The shock might kill him, but that would be unusual. You don't get a shock kill with Raiders very often; mostly they're so jeeped on Jet or Buffout that they'll keep coming 'til you hit something really vital.

I hadn't seen Three move, but I heard a scuffle and a snap from the nearest pillar when the sound of the gatling laser cut off for a second. A body flopped out from behind it a moment later, a big dirty guy without much in the way of clothes on. The one remaining Raider shot him probably a dozen times before they realized he was one of them and already dead. I couldn't see any other marks on him. Maybe Three had rabbit-punched him.

The survivor launched herself out of cover and ran screaming at the corpse with just a knife in her hand. I waited until she was about halfway there, then I shot her through the torso. She kept on running with that gaping hole through her body for probably three or four steps before her legs gave out. Then she tried to crawl, mouth opening and shutting and eyes rolling around. I was glad I couldn't hear whatever noise she made. Three took a couple of quick steps out of cover and stamped down on her head with his booted foot. It made a horrible wet _crunch _of a noise. There's nothing like the sound of a skull breaking and it's another thing I'll never learn to like. The body twitched, one leg kicking, but she stayed down.

I took a quick look around, making sure there were no others, before I stood up out of cover. Three shook his right hand. A couple of drops of blood flew from his split knuckle, but I didn't see any holes in his Vault suit. There was no point in asking him. Fawkes was still at it down below, screaming almost loud enough to be heard over the gatling laser. I walked over to the Raider whose leg I had shot off. He was dead, glazed eyes staring up at the back of the escalator. I guessed the shock had got him after all. I was glad for the big echoing space to thin out the stink.

I turned toward the stairwell with Three beside me. I hate going down stairs into a firefight. Whoever's down there can see your legs before you see them, which means by the time your head is in view they've probably already got you sighted in. You can toss a grenade down the stairs first to give you cover, which I wasn't going to do with Fawkes down there. You can do a dive roll down the stairwell and hope you land the right way and don't shoot yourself in the process. I am not stupid enough to try that with a plasma rifle. Or you can lay down at the top of the stairs and try to get a view of what's below you, and maybe plug any hostile party before they notice you. (Fawkes says it's "lie" down. Sounds wrong to me.)

I flattened myself out on the dusty floor and took a look down below. The stairs bent around out of sight, so I couldn't see much. This meant there was nobody below who could see me, either, so I got up and started down to the landing. Three brushed past me and got there first. He stuck his head around the first corner, and then he whisked himself around and out of sight.

I risked a look when I got there. Nobody was looking at the stairwell. Both the surviving gunmen were concentrating on Fawkes. They were trying to stay behind cover, but there's just not that much that will hide you from a gatling laser when the person carrying it is strong enough to chase you. Fawkes just kept on, legs like trees pumping up and down, shaking the ground with every step. The two he was after dodged from pillar to pillar of the room's central platform. I caught a glimpse of one of them as he ran past the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing black combat armor with a white claw spray-painted on the shoulder. That was all I saw before I had to duck back to avoid the rain of red light. The beams from the gat hissed against the concrete. I waited for that to die down as I thought,

_White claws. Must be Talon Company._ Which was interesting enough to keep me occupied while I waited for Fawkes to stop shooting in my direction. I, personally, am nobody important. There were (and are) a fair number of people who might kill me in the course of a regular day's work, or because I was in the way, or because they felt like it at the time. That's part of the cost of doing business. Nobody would pay Talon Company mercs to kill _me_.

I couldn't imagine anybody would pay them to kill a Scary Gary, either. That meant they were after somebody else. It was possible this was a chance meeting, but I doubted it. Talon Company has a reputation for taking certain kinds of contracts. They wouldn't be after scum like the Raiders upstairs. They might be after Fawkes, though. He'd been friends with the Vault Dweller, and the Talons had been after the Dweller more than one time without success. Even I knew that.

That being the case, you'd think they would've brought some heavier ordnance. There was no more spatter and hiss of laser on concrete next to me, so I risked another look. Fawkes seemed to be standing in one place now, twisting his enormous torso to and fro as he aimed a spray of more lasers at the mercs. Now that I was looking, I spotted the body of the third one. He was sprawled out on the escalator stairs, loops of pink gut hanging out where he'd been cut almost in half by the lasers. A minigun lay a few steps below him. _Ah hah. _

Now, just in case anybody reading this has never seen a minigun (in which case, lucky you), let me explain. A minigun is an aircraft weapon, usually off a helicopter, that's been adapted so it can be carried and fired by one individual. As such it's usually a super mutant's weapon, not a human's. Even with the lightweight metals they were making before the war, firing one would be about like having a grown man running on your chest. The dead guy on the stairs was pretty huge, but he didn't have power armor or anything else to offset the weight and the kick. He must've been an easy target for Fawkes. I hadn't even heard him get a shot off.

Neither of the others looked big enough for the mini, assuming they could survive to get up the stairs and get it. One of them must be carrying the rifle I'd heard earlier. The other one probably had one as well. Talon Mercs like hunting and sniper rifles. They're more precise than automatic weapons and they can be used at a distance.

Which same is also true of plasma rifles, of course. I couldn't get much of a bead on either of them the way they were still running around, though. I couldn't figure why they didn't try to escape back up the escalators. It seemed to me like their best chance, since they couldn't know I was there. _Unless there's something else upstairs. Can't be Ferals. They'd be down here already. They're not smart enough to shy off from gunfire. Probably not one of the old robots, either; they'd risk that, and anyhow all you need is an old metro ticket to show them. Everyone knows that._

I spotted Three down in the shadow of an escalator, crouching where he was invisible to anyone without a vantage above him. I saw him before either of the mercs did. In fact, one of them never saw him at all, because he tripped over Three's outstretched foot and then Fawkes shot him to doll rags. Three did a quick backward roll out of sight, but I couldn't imagine how he could've avoided all the little red beams.

The other merc saw him, but he didn't have time to do anything about it. He hesitated for a second, trying to decide what to do, and then I shot him through the body about the same time Fawkes hit him with the gat. He literally disintegrated. No blood, no guts. Just ashes.

Fawkes let the gatling laser power down. The absence of sound left a ringing in my ears. I shook my head to let it clear.

"It's Thistle. I'm coming down," I called down from the stairwell. Fawkes hung the gat's barrel back up, so I slung the rifle on my shoulder and went on down. Fawkes was looking around him, craning his thick neck. I could hear him breathing hard, and when I got close I felt the heat coming off him and the gat both.

"You okay?" I asked him.

"Certainly," said Fawkes. He'd got his voice back under control already. But then, he hadn't been wounded this time. "I'm not certain about Three, however. It is possible I might have inadvertently injured him."

"Three?" I said loudly. There was nothing I could attract that wouldn't have already been drawn in or driven off by the giant rattle of the gatling laser. My hackles were just starting to settle (this is what you call a figure of speech, being as a Ghoul has no back hairs to raise or lower) and the knot unwind in my belly. When I was fighting for my life I didn't notice it was there. Only afterwards, when it went away and left me a little weaker.

Three stuck his head over the side of the farthest escalator. He looked warily at Fawkes for a second, making sure the shooting was over. Then he vaulted over the rail and landed neatly eight feet below.

"Ga-_ry_," he said, and grabbed a fold of fabric at his waist and pulled it away from his body. There was a neat scorch hole through it.

"Looks like a near miss," I said. Three nodded.

"I apologize," said Fawkes. "Aim is sometimes inexact with this weapon."

Three snorted. He looked at me. "Thistle?"

"Nah, I'm fine," I said, correctly interpreting his tone. "Mostly I let you two do all the work." I shook my head. "You should've seen him, Fawkes. And I thought _Raiders _were stupid about charging a loaded gun."

"He is faster than an ordinary human," said Fawkes. He turned to look down at Three. "He has had nearly two human lifetimes to learn. And I imagine his time in the Vault was not much more pleasant than my own."

Three looked up at Fawkes as if he'd never seen him before. Then he nodded.

"Okay," I said. "We've still got some walking to do. Let's go."


	14. Chapter 14

14

The rest of the trip was more or less uneventful. There aren't a lot of big crossings to get through between Metro Central and the Museum Station, and Museum Station gets enough traffic through it that hostiles don't settle down there for long. Among other things, if it starts to hurt business in Underworld Ahzrukhal has been known to send his manservant down there to clean out the beasties.

Which reminded me. As we came up the main tunnel to the station I told the others, "If you see a big Ghoul in leather armor, carrying a rifle, leave him alone."

"Ah," grunted Fawkes. "You refer to Charon."

"Charon?" asked Three, after working his jaw silently for a few seconds. The big platform up ahead of us seemed empty, a big dim space with dust motes swirling through it. It looks pretty much like every other Metro subway platform, except that it might be a little cleaner.

"He's, well, it's hard to explain," I said. "He works for the guy who tends bar at the Ninth Circle in Underworld. Sort of. He's not exactly a slave but to call him a freeman would be a stretch. He's got some kind of weird mental thing going on."

But Charon wasn't down there that day. The platform was empty, and the hallway after it was empty. I stopped to give the Nuka-Cola machine a kick out of habit, but it was empty, too. I like a bottle of the regular stuff once in a while, when I get dry and I'm tired of water.

Somebody always seems to come down and shove the chain-link gates shut again when they get left open. I looked out through them at the dark stairwell outside. "Let me go first," I said. "Everybody here knows me." I shoved at the rusty gate and it screeched open.

"Willow?" I called.

Footsteps crunched toward us, then stopped. I'd been this way a few times now. I knew she'd be waiting just past where a super mutant would be able to see her from the doorway. "Yes?" said Willow's voice. (Now, depending on who's reading this, you might or might not be able to tell Ghoul voices apart, but believe me, Ghouls can. Fawkes says he can recognize mine, but he's been around me a lot. I can pretty much tell his voice from another mutant's by this point.)

"It's Thistle," I said. "I'm with a smoothskin and Fawkes."

"Fawkes?" she said. "You mean Fawkes, the super mutant who used to hang around with the Vault Dweller?" She didn't say _the one who let him get killed, _but it was there in her tone.

"Hrm?" said Gary. He looked at Fawkes, then at me. I guess he hadn't made the connection before. That wasn't too surprising. He couldn't have been out of the Vault for too long when I met him. He probably hadn't even heard of the Vault Dweller until last month sometime.

"This a problem?" I asked.

"I guess not," said Willow. "As long as they behave themselves. Come on up."

I looked at Fawkes. "Not too late to change your mind," I said.

"It does not matter," he said, quietly for him (although I'm sure Willow heard it).

"If you say so," I said, and went up the stairs. The other two followed.

Willow stood back from the stairwell as we came up, gun in hand. She put it away as she recognized me. "Hey," she said, a little friendlier than before. "How are things out there?"

"Just like always," I said.

"Did you make it to Girder Shade?" said Willow. She was wearing a leather jacket and jeans now, ignoring the humid heat of D.C. in the springtime. But then, she never had much skin on when I saw her, and if that's the case, staying warm is harder than staying cool.

"Yeah," I said. "You know something about that?"

She looked around. We were in the shadow of the Museum's huge front, chipped pillars looming. The sidewalk went out for a few yards beyond the Metro station entrance before it trailed off into the dirt and rock. The main Mall is full of trenches and diggings, and the trenches and diggings are full of super mutants. I saw some of them in the distance, pacing behind barbed wire. All of them wore bits of rubber tires or armor made from car parts. And, I realized, that must be another reason why Fawkes kept the Vault 87 suit on. It made him easy to tell apart from the others. (My commentator here says I am completely correct. He says that otherwise, going without armor has been something of an inconvenience, which I think is what you'd call an understatement.)

"I heard about it," said Willow, apparently satisfied there was no one in earshot. "Tulip told me Dahlia was getting something for her. I'd guess it's something she wants really bad. And she said you were going with her. And then I found out it's something Ahzrukhal wants, too."

"Bad enough to send Charon?" I asked, with sort of a sinking feeling.

"Nah," said Willow, waving a dismissive hand. "He wouldn't let Charon off the leash for that long, from what I hear."

"So he hired an out-of-towner," I said. "Did you know about this before I left?"

"No," said Willow. Something about the tone of my voice warned her. One hand fingered the strap of her rifle. "I just heard this week. Why?"

"Never mind," I said. "I'll take it up with Tulip." I turned and went to haul the big front door open, and then we were in the Museum's main lobby. Fawkes had to duck and turn to get through the door, but there was plenty of clearance inside. The lobby is very wide and high, and there's a clear path from the front door to the entrance to Underworld in between the fallen exhibits. Nobody's taken time to clean out the old mammoth yet. It's falling to bits.

"See that?" I said to Three, jerking a thumb at the enormous fake-stone skull over the doors. "Underworld. I guess somebody thought it would be funny to move in here after the War."

There are no guards in the lobby. Anybody who makes it past Willow still has to get through the Underworld main doors. And right behind those doors is Cerberus, who knows a non-Ghoul is coming when they're a hundred yards away. Don't ask me how. But he was waiting right inside when I walked in. He was hovering above the floor with all four arms' worth of armaments aimed at the door, humming with active power cells. If you're reading this, you've probably seen the Mister Handy and Mister Gutsy bots around. Cerberus is just another one of the old octopus-shaped Robco models that somebody slapped a combat inhibitor on and tweaked a little in the programming.

"Hi, Cerberus," I said. "They're with me."

"Whatever you say," said Cerberus in the movie-drill-sergeant voice that apparently came with his AI. He rotated around and glided off, grumbling under his breath.

I looked around. There are always people on the main concourse in Underworld, day or night. There are no windows, and time doesn't have quite the same meaning in there. The floor is a shiny tan marble and there are stairwells up each side as you go in. They go up to the balconies and the upper rooms where Carol's Place and the Ninth Circle are. Here it's obvious that Ghouls really don't look alike. Every different shade and shape and size is on display, and every degree of skin loss. Most are like me, with recurring patches that come and go. Most are also dry and flaky, not much like an actual corpse. A few of the unlucky ones ooze from the surface under their outer skin, and they smell. (So I'm told, anyway. It must not be strong enough to bother somebody with as little nose as I've got.)

Almost everybody had stopped to stare at Fawkes and Three. Fawkes looked around slowly, arms at his sides, radiating warmth and calm. Three looked quickly around him and up and to each side, like he was memorizing it all in case there was going to be a test later. He looked nervous. But then, smoothskins in Underworld usually do. Outside that place, it's rare to see non-Feral Ghouls (Fawkes says perhaps I mean _sapient _Ghouls, which is another word he had to spell for me) more than one at a time. Suddenly having the tables turned on you will make anybody nervous.

I was pretty sure that wasn't why Three was bothered, but of course nobody else knew that. I've since heard it described as a target saturation problem (probably by Fawkes, being as how he's the only person I now who talks like that). Three was trying to figure out who he would kill in what order if we were attacked. I felt a little cold as I realized this. Underworld was the closest thing to a home I'd had for a long time.

"Let's go find Tulip," I said. The spell was broken. People went on about their business or went back to lounging on the benches chatting, although there were plenty of glances our way as we went past. The doors to left and right looked exactly alike. I went straight to Underworld Outfitters without looking at the sign. Tulip is the only one in town who sells much in the way of ammo. That's how I happened to be in her store when she was looking for an escort for the older lady (I guess her name was Dahlia, funny what you remember) on her way out to Girder Shade. She didn't tell me anything about any package then, though. And definitely nothing about Jay. I felt a little burn when I thought about that.

Tulip was behind the counter when I came in. She's pretty pale for a Ghoul; she was probably Caucasian before she changed. Her eyes got big as she watched Fawkes duck and squeeze himself through the doorway. He didn't scrape the gatling laser on anything, which I thought was doing pretty well. He could stand up inside the room, but only just. Underworld Outfitters consists of basically one medium-sized room, with the old fake pillars still standing up against the walls and a nice rug on the floor. There's a clutter of guns and ammo and clothes on shelves around the room, and a prewar cash register and computer terminal on the counter.

Tulip looked at Three for a long time. He looked back warily. "Hi there," she said.

"Tulip," I said. Her eyes came back to me with a jerk. "I got something of a bone to pick with you."

"Thistle!" she said, maybe a little guiltily. "Is Dahlia all right? It took you a long time to get back."

"She was fine, last I saw," I said. I leaned forward with my two palms on the counter. "Whereas I got shot through the gut. Which is why I was late getting back. And no, I don't have your package."

"Why not?" She was more worried about this than me getting shot, I noticed. "You mean he got it?"

"No," I said. "I blew it up before he got the chance. _Why didn't you tell me someone else wanted it? _For that matter, why didn't you tell me about the package to begin with?_"_

"I told you Dahlia needed protection," said Tulip. She stiffened her spine and narrowed her eyes, trying to regain some composure. "That's all you really needed to know."

"Apparently it was not," rumbled Fawkes behind me. His voice was quite calm, without a trace of berserker snarl, but Tulip apparently couldn't tell that. One hand strayed below the countertop, where I knew there would be a gun. I unshouldered the plasma rifle and powered it up in one movement, and Tulip froze with it aimed between her eyes.

"Hands on the counter," I said. "Me having to shoot you would interfere with your ability to tell me what the Hell is going on."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Three standing beside the door. He watched the main concourse outside with no apparent interest in what we were doing, holding the door open a crack. Tulip had undoubtedly registered that he was unarmed, but that didn't much matter. If she called for help Cerberus might come in after us, but a Mister Gutsy is no match for a super mutant with a gatling laser. That went double when that super mutant was Fawkes.

"Take it easy, Thistle," said Tulip. She set her hands slowly on top of the wooden surface. "No need to get hostile. I'll tell you all about it."


	15. Chapter 15

15

"It was all because of Alistair," said Tulip.

"Alistair?" I said. The name sounded sort of familiar. I lowered the rifle slightly.

"That was his name," said Tulip. "At least, it was what he went by. We were friends." She relaxed a little, eyes focused on something far outside the room. "I'd have liked to be more than that, but he was interested in somebody else. Her name was Laura. She was one of the first ones, you know? From before the War. One of the lucky ones that don't get old. I got to say this for her, she was pretty for a Ghoul, too. But she just laughed at him. She used to call him a silly boy. Can you believe that?

"I still don't know what it was she said to him before she left. He never would tell me. But after she left Underworld, he slid. Slid all the way. He started spending all his caps at the Ninth Circle and then," her fingers dug unconsciously at the wooden countertop. "Then that bastard Ahzrukhal got him addicted to Jet."

"Should've known this would have something to do with Ahz," I muttered. I hung the rifle up. It was pretty clear that it wasn't me Tulip wanted to hurt. Beside me, Fawkes nodded as if he approved. Three was leaning with his back against the door now, arms folded. He frowned as he tried to follow a conversation that was probably full of words he didn't know. (Having talked to Fawkes pretty often now, I can relate. He thinks that's funny. My chair is shaking again.)

"He stopped talking to me because he knew I didn't like it," said Tulip. "Maybe if I hadn't said anything... I don't know. I tried to keep an eye on him. Sometimes I'd buy him something at Carol's, so I could make sure he ate and didn't just use the caps to buy more chems. He used to go out and collect scrap metal. Then he'd trade it to Winthrop for a stimpak. Then he'd trade the stimpak for more Jet. I didn't figure all that out until he was dead, of course."

"Scavenging is dangerous," I said. "Especially here in D.C."

"Yeah," said Tulip. "But it was the chems that killed Alistair. One time he came back with a bunch of caps – I never knew where he got them – and bought himself enough Jet to fry his brain. Winthrop found him out in the lobby. He helped me drag him out and bury him at night, so we wouldn't get shot. Even Winthrop knew I was his only friend." She shook her head, remembering.

"So this has something to do with the package?" I said, when she didn't go on. She looked back at me abruptly.

"I want Ahzrukhal dead," she said bluntly. "But I haven't got the skill. Charon would kill me before I got a shot off if I tried. Ahz has been saying that he'd sell Charon's contract to somebody with enough caps. I guess he's mad at him or something. I thought if I could get hold of something Ahz really wanted, hide it somewhere he couldn't get it by force, he might agree to trade."

"And then you'd have Charon kill Ahz," I said.

"Everybody knows he'll do whatever his contract holder says," said Tulip.

"Yeah, yeah." I waved that away, also ignoring the big flaw in her plan. I wouldn't have bet on her being able to keep that location from Ahzrukhal. Not for more than, say, ten minutes alone with Charon. "So Ahz wanted this package and it was in Girder Shade. How'd you know that?"

Tulip shrugged. "He likes to talk. Some of the junkies hear more than he thinks they do, and they'll tell you everything they know for a couple of caps. I don't know what's in it, or what he wanted it for. I just know he wanted it bad. He's been really pissed since his merc came back without it."

"You really didn't know what was in it?" I said. "I guess that explains a lot."

"Why?" Tulip looked from me to Fawkes and back. She seemed to have forgotten Three's existence. "What was it?"

"A nightie and a pair of panties," I said. "A goddamn set of lingerie." Tulip opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, like she couldn't believe it. Then I realized what _else _she had said. "Wait – that merc. The blond smoothskin. Is he still here?"

"Sure," said Tulip. "He bought some .44 ammo off me. He's pretty polite, for a gunnie. Why?" She looked at my face. "Oh, no. Don't go starting anything here in town, Thistle. You know better than that."

"Yeah," I said, not real loud. "Yeah, I know better." I took off my rucksack and set it on the counter. "Okay. I need some things."

"Dahlia was supposed to pay you," Tulip said nervously.

"She did. And, being as how I did not succeed in coming back with your package, I'm not going to charge you for that. I got a few caps left and I need some more stimpaks." I fingered the stock of the plasma rifle. "And a couple of MFs if you got them. And whatever you can give my friend here in trade for the Vault suit, if you've got something that will fit. It's got a couple of little holes, but it's wearable." I jerked my head at Three so that Tulip wouldn't get the idea I was expecting her to buy Fawkes's Vault 87 suit.

"You want to sell me that rifle?" she said hopefully. "I'll give you six hundred for it."

"Sorry," I said. "I like this gun."

"Sure, no harm in asking." She turned around to rummage on the shelves. "Where'd you come up with one of those, anyhow? I've only ever seen one other one."

"Really? Who had it?" I asked.

"I dunno, some smoothskin that came through a couple of years ago. I think he was an Enclave deserter. He looked like the ex-mil guys look, you know. He wouldn't sell his, either."

"Hm," I said, thinking this was a funny coincidence considering who I _had _gotten the rifle from. "Well, I got it in exchange for services rendered. So to speak. More than that isn't my story to tell. How much?"

Tulip looked up at Fawkes, swallowed, and quoted me a price that was slightly lower than was fair. I paid her and bundled the chems and ammo into my ruck. I showed the clothes to Three.

"Think you can wear these?" he looked at them with his head on one side. Then he nodded. "Good. Go change. The men's room is right down the concourse."

"Gary," he said, and took the clothes and went.

"Hey," Tulip said as I put the rucksack back on. "No hard feelings, huh?"

I looked at her for a second. On the one hand, I had gotten shot for no good reason. On the other hand, I had survived. She had lost somebody she loved, and Hell would freeze over before she got back at Ahzrukhal for it. She wasn't mean enough or smart enough for that.

"No hard feelings," I said. "Just tell me what I'm getting in for, next time. But I'd leave Ahz alone if I were you. He's going to get his sooner or later."

"Sooner or later," said Tulip. "Yeah."

I figured there was nothing else to say, so I didn't. Three came back in a minute with the jumpsuit folded up nice and neat. He set it on the counter in front of Tulip without a word, and we left. I stopped by a bench outside and turned to the other two. I waited for Fawkes to get himself straightened up all the way. Three was looking at me with his arms folded. His new tee shirt and denim jacket and cargo pants fit him a little loose. He'd kept his Vault boots.

"Gary?" he said, in a _what the Hell was that _kind of voice.

"You don't like the clothes?" I said. He waved a hand impatiently.

"Gary. Clothes are _gary _fine_."_

"Oh, you mean Tulip?" He nodded. "What should I have done?" I said. "Shot her? Naw. I'm going to want to come back here."

"It was because you felt pity for her," said Fawkes. I still couldn't read his grinding voice well, but he didn't seem disapproving.

It sounded embarrassing when he put it that way. "She's riding for a fall," I said. "Now Ahzrukhal knows she'll get him if she can, and he's a lot nastier than she is."

Three frowned as he listened to this.

"It is unfortunate," said Fawkes. "Will we do something about this?"

_We? _I stared in horror at the picture of Fawkes tearing up Underworld with a gatling laser. Scorch holes in the marble floor. Cerberus in pieces. Ghouls running in every direction, trying desperately to avoid the deadly little red lasers that Fawkes wouldn't even really be shooting at them - _No. Never that._ _Not in here. And if he hurt someone by accident, I think it might kill him. Surely he knows that?_

I was sure he did. If Fawkes had a personal flaw tucked away inside that green bullet skull, it was that he knew himself too well.

_He's willing to do it anyway. If _I_ ask him to. Good _GOD.

"The only way to Ahz is through Charon," I said very carefully. "You could probably kill him. You and Three definitely could. Maybe even you and Three and me, if I didn't trip and shoot myself in the face. But it wouldn't be easy, and we'd probably destroy this town in the process. I feel sorry for Tulip, but not that sorry. She's a grown woman. She chose to do what she did."

"_Gary," _said Three, in firm agreement.

"Then what will we do now?" asked Fawkes. If he had any reaction to what I'd said, it didn't show. The set of his giant shoulders seemed a little relieved, but I might be imagining that.

"I'm tired," I said. I was starting to unwind again, and it had been a really long walk down below – I still didn't know how many hours we'd spent getting here. "And I still need to see Carol. Normally I'd sleep over there."

Three nodded. He had to be tired, too, but I'd never seen him show any sign. He was either asleep, or he showed that nervous hyper-awareness that seemed to be ordinary for him.

"Then do so," said Fawkes. "I'll wait for you both here." He probably wouldn't look forward to the prospect of spending that many hours kneeling inside what was, for him, a large box. If there was anywhere in the Capitol Wasteland that I'd be safe for one night, it was in here.

"If you see Jay, let him go," I said. "I'll catch up with him later."

"I'm sure you will," said Fawkes.

"Will you be all right?" I asked. I wasn't worried about him starting trouble on his own. He'd just proven that he would wait for me to do that for him. Until you really get him going, Fawkes isn't actually an aggressive person. I just didn't want to wake up and find he'd left because someone had been mean to him again. For all that he still scared me – Hell, sometimes he still _does _scare me – I was starting to like having him around.

Fawkes chuckled. A couple of Ghouls looked over at us to see what the noise was about. "Yes, I think so. Sleep well, Thistle. Three."

Three made a _pfft _noise.

"Thank you, Fawkes," I said, and went up the stairs with Three right beside me.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Carol's Place is in one of the larger upstairs areas in Underworld. You go through the door and there's the entrance to the diner off to the left, and the main counter right in front of you. Otherwise it looks just like any other interior in Underworld. Same beige walls. Same fake pillars up against them. Same soft lighting, flickering or not depending on whether Winthrop has got around to fixing it yet.

Carol usually sits behind the counter. She was there when Three and I walked in. I took my hat off so she could tell who I was.

"Thistle! Welcome back," said Carol, standing up quickly. "Have you seen Gob?"

"Thanks, Carol," I said. "Yeah, I saw him. He's still working in Megaton. Still seems to be doing okay. I gave him the caps you sent him."

"I'm so glad to hear he's all right," she said. Carol has been around longer than almost anybody in Underworld. She survived the War and all the horrors that came after it. You'd think by now she'd have a skin like armor plate. Not so. She's just as nice as Moira, and gets her feelings hurt easier. I'm sure this is why Greta is so protective of her.

"I need a place to sleep," I said.

"Yes, of course. I guess you've had a long trip." Carol glanced at the doorway, where no Greta was to be seen, and leaned forward. "No charge," she said. "Since I couldn't afford to pay you for checking on my boy."

"I couldn't let you do that," I said, and pushed the last of my caps across the counter. "Especially not if business is bad."

"Thank you," said Carol quietly, and rang it up. She gestured at the back alcove. "Make yourselves comfortable. There's nobody staying right now, so you've got your pick. The sheets are all clean."

"They always are," I said, and unslung my rucksack as I headed back toward the alcove. All the beds were lined up along the wall, same as they had been when I was here last. I went all the way to the end of the row and shoved the ruck back against the wall beside the pillow. I put my rifle there, too. Then I pried my boots off with a groan and shoved them under the bed. Three watched all this sort of blankly. He left his own boots on as he sat down on the bed next to mine.

"Not to worry," I told him. "This is one of the safest places we could be right now. Especially with Fawkes outside."

"Gary," he said. A muscle worked in his temple as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He looked over his shoulder, back toward the door.

"I've known Carol and Greta for a long time," I said. "They're okay. And Jay's not going to come looking for me_. _Not unless somebody else pays him." I lay back and tipped my hat over my face, blotting out the interior lights that never go off. Sleeping outside, you get used to the dark. It always feels weird for me to sleep indoors and have lights on all the time.

That time, I was too tired for it to bother me. I don't remember a thing until Three woke me up by saying my name.

"Whuh?" I said, removing my hat with one hand and reaching for the rifle with the other.

"Thistle," said Three again. I sat up.

"Oh. Good morning. Or whatever it is. What's going on?"

Three worked on it for a while and came up with, "Fawkes."

"He sent you to get me? What, couldn't you sleep?"

Three shrugged. I guessed he'd had another nightmare, or whatever I should call those hideous moments that woke him up nights. He always seemed to have a little shadow under his eyes, so no help there. At the moment his dark hair was damp, which was the only clue that it might be morning. Time is a shaky concept in Underworld.

I reached under the bed for my boots. My mouth felt horrible. I hoped whatever-it-was could wait until I'd had time to freshen up. "Is this urgent?" I asked.

Three shook his head.

"Did Jay leave?"

Nod.

"How is that not urgent?"

Three smiled slightly, eyes suddenly narrow. "Gary," he said. "Know where."

"You know where he went?" I asked.

"Fawkes," corrected Three.

"All right. I'm going to go freshen up, and then we'll talk about it." I could smell coffee and something cooking from the diner, which was torture, but I didn't have any money left. Three and I would have to eat out of the rucksack. I wasn't sure what to do about Fawkes yet. "How long did I sleep?"

Three held up nine fingers.

"Wow. That long."

He grinned, a real smile this time. "Gary," he informed me cheerfully, and made an ushering gesture toward the door.

"Okay, okay," I said, and got my other boot on and staggered out.

Twenty minutes later I emerged from the restroom as groomed as I generally get. I haven't got enough hair to bother about, and I usually only have one outfit, so it's trying to get everything clean that takes the most time. Even after Project Purity, it's dusty in the Wasteland.

Fawkes stood waiting beside the same bench where I'd left him last night. He was looking implacably calm as usual, so I guess nothing bad had happened while I was asleep.

"Good morning," he said. I settled my hat carefully on my head.

"Morning," I said. "If that's what it is."

"Very early," said Fawkes. "But yes. You went to sleep late in the afternoon yesterday."

"How'd you know that?" I asked.

"I asked Cerberus the time."

"Oh. So did anybody give you a hard time?" I said.

"No," said Fawkes. "Oddly enough."

"That's good, then." I resettled my knapsack. "So you wanted to tell me something?"

Fawkes was silent for a moment, apparently trying to figure out how to phrase something. "Is it true that you will be looking for new employment soon?"

"Um," I said. "Yeah." _Since I'm flat broke now. _But I didn't want Three to feel like I minded what I'd spent on his clothes, or Fawkes to feel like I was sorry I'd used all those stimpaks on him. Both of those were necessary things. There was no point in bringing them up.

"I have a suggestion along those lines," said Fawkes.

"What's that?" I said. "And what does it have to do with Jay?"

"It's possible this person will be hired as well. So I overheard this morning, at least." That's how he said it, too. _This person._

"So what's the job?" I said. _I'm guessing it's not something easy, if they're willing to invest in Jay's services._

"I understand the Brotherhood of Steel is looking for an independent contractor to retrieve something from a private Vault," said Fawkes.

"Oh, _Hell _no," I said. "I don't work with the BOS. They're gun-crazy bigots and if that's not enough, they also shoot Ghouls on sight."

"I think you may judge them harshly," said Fawkes. "And they will not attack you if you are with me. I am nearly certain."

Three cocked one dark eyebrow up at Fawkes. "Gary _nearly_?"

"Great," I said. I stood there for a minute, thinking it over. It sounded like a very bad idea. But it was Fawkes's idea, wasn't it? Maybe he knew something I didn't. That wasn't hard to imagine. Maybe he just wanted to see if I would trust him the way he'd shown he trusted me. _I owe him that. _"All right," I said. "You know how to get in touch with these id – these guys?"

"Yes," said Fawkes. I might have imagined the tiny hesitation before he said, "If you will follow me."

There was nothing else I could say but "Sure. Let's go." I ignored Three's disbelieving stare as I turned toward the concourse doors.

So we left Underworld. Fawkes reached for the barrel of the gatling laser as he stepped out the front door of the lobby. I took my rifle off my shoulder. You want to be ready if you're planning to spend any time out on the Mall, and I wasn't sure what time it actually was. It might be daylight already.

It wasn't quite. The sky was pale, but everything below was still dim, the way it gets when the sun is just thinking about rising. It was even a little chilly. I could see the hulking shapes of the super mutants moving around out in their dugouts and behind the sandbags, but if what Fawkes had told me about their sleeping habits was true, that was no surprise.

Fawkes turned immediately to the right and set off down the sidewalk. I stuck behind him, and Three stayed beside me, walking softly in his boots. He seemed to be getting better at that as time went on. In a few more weeks, I probably wouldn't be able to hear him at all. It didn't really matter how quiet he was now, though. Not with Fawkes tromping through the cool morning in his enormous Vault boots. I'm sure some of the mutants must have seen him, but no one took a shot. Maybe they knew enough to respect the gat. Or maybe they knew who Fawkes was. A lot of people seemed to.

I saw the Lincoln Memorial looming up ahead. There were guys camped out under the shelter of the pillars, one or two smoking cigarettes slouched against the stone, but they obviously weren't Brotherhood. None of them had the heavy bug-eyed power armor that usually identifies knights and paladins from a distance. Fawkes was turning off to the right, toward the front of an abandoned building. The front doors were intact, and the ground floor windows were boarded up. Fawkes shoved one of the doors open as if he knew it wasn't locked, and then Three and I followed him inside.

The first thing I heard after the door closing was the sound of safety catches being thumbed off. Four unreadable helmets looked at us over the barrels of assault rifles. The four gunnies stood behind sandbags. I noticed peripherally that we were in a good-sized lobby, smaller than the Museum's but big enough to easily hold the gunnies plus tables, chairs and us. The floor was marble, but that's no surprise in any building on the Mall.

Fawkes looked down at them. "My name is Fawkes," he said. "I understand the Brotherhood is interested in having an item retrieved."

"Fawkes," said one of the gunnies, and lowered his weapon. The others followed suit. His voice came out tinny and flat through the helmet as he said, "Haven't seen you in a while. It's Sigerson, remember me?"

"I do," said Fawkes. "Good morning, Knight."

"Morning," said (apparently) Knight Sigerson. "You might be too late. They're negotiating with somebody about it now. We'll tell them you're here, though."

"Please do," said Fawkes. Nobody asked who Three and I were. If we were with Fawkes, I guessed it didn't matter. Sigerson said something to one of the others, and he went jogging off to a door on the other side of the lobby.

After a minute or so he came back. "Paladin says send them in," he said.


	17. Chapter 17

_/N: The existence of an undetermined number of non-Vault Tec private vaults is canonical, at least according to the Vault wiki I've been using for background info._

17

The door across the lobby led into another large room. Display cases lined the walls, most of them broken, all of them empty. Someone had dusted everything, and the floor was clean. A couple of tables and chairs stood in the middle of the room. Ammunition boxes were stacked neatly around them.

I felt my stomach tighten as I saw Jay. He sat slouched in one of the chairs, across from a man in Brotherhood power armor. Jay must've had Snowflake cut his hair while he was in Underworld. He wore it buzzed tight to his skull, a thin yellow fuzz. The Paladin had his helmet off. I can't imagine how the chair held his weight in the power armor without collapsing, but it did. He looked to be a hard-worn forty, leathery and angular. The top of a long scar ran up his neck to his ear.

He seemed to know Fawkes. They exchanged nods. Jay raised his eyebrows as he looked up at the super mutant. I watched as his gaze traveled down to Three, correctly recognized his lack of a weapon, and dismissed him. Then he looked at me. I was dressed differently than I'd been before, and like all Ghouls my facial topology tends to change a little over time. ("Facial topology" is how Fawkes puts it. He says he can identify me from the bone and muscle now, which is how Ghouls generally tell each other apart.) Jay probably didn't know who I was until he saw the plasma rifle slung over my shoulder.

Then he grinned. "Garcia," he said. "I figured you'd make it."

"Did you?" I said. "And my name is Thistle."

"Hey, you got me fired," said Jay reasonably. "Ahzrukhal says he'll have his goon shoot me if I show my face in Underworld again, and that big bastard might actually be able to do it. I'd say we're even."

"You go straight to Hell," I said. Jay tipped his head briefly, like I'd made an interesting point.

"You want to put in a bid on the contract, Fawkes?" said the Paladin, ignoring this.

"What is your current offer?" said Fawkes.

"He says he won't do it for less than a thousand. That's a little out of the budget for a simple retrieval job."

"Simple retrieval, my ass," said Jay. "You want me to open up a sealed vault – a sealed _private _vault – it's going to cost you. No telling what's been going on in there for the last 200 years."

"We think there hasn't been anything alive inside for over a hundred," said the Paladin to Fawkes. "It was built by an entrepreneur for himself and his wife and two assistants. Both assistants were male. The wife was past menopause. And the door seals are still intact. Even if they lived a good long life in there, they're all dead now. Probably some radiation leakage is the only real hazard to worry about, and that's not likely to be a problem for you. Or her." The Paladin nodded at me curtly, then looked at Three. "We'll give you some chems for your friend if you take it on for us."

"Why would you hire an independent contractor for this?" asked Fawkes.

"We can spare the caps better than we can the trained manpower," said the Paladin frankly. "And it's a couple of days' trip on foot."

Fawkes turned to look down at me. "Are you willing?"

"Sure," I said. "Three?" He looked at me with one raised eyebrow. Then he nodded.

"We will do it for six hundred caps," said Fawkes. "Plus chems and rations."

"Fair enough," said the Paladin. "We've found enough stuff in here we can probably keep even you going for a while. It's all prewar packaged stuff, mind you."

"That is adequate," said Fawkes. Compared to raw yao guai, it certainly was.

"Six hundred? Split between three of you? Ain't that a little thin?" said Jay. I say this for him, he wasn't afraid of Fawkes. But then, I'd never seen evidence that he was afraid of anything. (Fawkes says he always suspected Jay was a sociopath, but I don't know what that means, and he says it will take too long to explain.)

"I have no need for currency," said Fawkes. "I do have a need for imperishable protein." He looked down at Three and me. "How you divide the amount will be up to you, once we return with the item." I nodded, although three hundred caps for two days' work wasn't my normal rate. Three just shrugged.

"So what is this thing we're supposed to get?" I asked the Paladin. Instead of answering, he turned to look at Jay. Jay unfolded himself lazily from the chair and turned toward the door.

"Suit yourself," he said. "See you around, Thistle." He grinned at me as he said my name. I stared after him, feeling a cold draft up my spine.

The Paladin stood up when Jay was gone. It didn't put him on Fawkes's eye level, of course, but it seemed more polite than staying seated. "The entrepreneur was a research biochemist," he said. "We want what he was working on, plus any notes or prewar records you can find. There should definitely be viable samples left. He had the best preservation system money could buy when he went in. We'll want a full report on whatever tech is there that you can't carry away. Getting the doors open will be up to you; it shouldn't be hard once you find the place. The site is well hidden. We found it by the heat signature."

"I understand," said Fawkes.

"Here's a map." The Paladin produced a folded piece of paper from somewhere on his armor. Fawkes looked down at me. I held out a hand for it. The Paladin dropped it into my outstretched hand, apparently reluctant to touch me even with a powered armor glove on. Or maybe he just didn't want to hurt my hand.

"Thanks," I said.

"Sigerson will give you your rations and chems before you go. See him on your way out."

"Yes," said Fawkes. "Thank you."

"Good luck," said the Paladin.

We turned to go. That was when I realized Three was gone. I looked around quickly, but there was no sign of him.

"Fawkes," I said as we approached the door to the lobby.

"Yes, Thistle."

"Where's Three?"

"He followed the other person out. I thought you knew."

I swore quietly and sprinted for the door. Sigerson and co. looked up as I skidded to a stop in front of them. I heard Fawkes far behind me, arriving at a tranquil walk. "Did the other two go out this way?" I asked.

"Sure," said Sigerson. "Hey, aren't I supposed to get you some - "

"Give them to Fawkes," I said, and went out the front door with my rifle in hand.

I was worried about Three, but not so much I forgot where I was. I ducked down to one side of the door as soon as I was outside, making myself a smaller target in shadow rather than a large one silhouetted in the doorframe. _Then _I looked around.

I saw the gun first. Jay's .44 lay on the sidewalk out ahead of me, gleaming in the rising sun. Then I heard an _oof, _and I looked over to my left into the shadow of the next building. Three stood there with his hands loose at his sides. Jay faced him with a switchblade in his hand, looking slightly bent and more than a little surprised. I guessed he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"You're pretty damn fast," said Jay. Neither of them was paying attention to me.

"Gaaaaryy," said Three. He drew out the two syllables into a weird little singsong.

"That so?" said Jay dryly. He swiped at Three's belly with the knife. I almost bit through my lip; I didn't want to make a noise and distract the clone. If it had been me, he'd have got me. Three avoided the attempt easily, and then they both moved so quickly that I couldn't tell what was going on for a few seconds. It ended with a _thud, _and Jay staggered back with blood streaming from his nose.

He recovered quickly, but he just stood there looking at Three. Three was wiping the heel of his hand on his pants with apparent distaste. His other hand held Jay's switchblade. Jay had a look on his face I'd never seen. Whenever we met he laughed at me, but he wasn't laughing now. He was quiet and very grim.

Three held up the blade so it caught the light. Then he tossed it behind him. It clattered on the sidewalk at my feet.

Then they were moving again. I caught a glimpse of Three with Jay twisting his arm up behind his back, and then he ducked, writhed, and hooked one leg around Jay's shin. Jay hit the ground on his ass. I noticed he didn't let go of the knife. Three rotated his shoulder joint for a second. Then I watched his shoulders shake in that weird silent laugh of his. Jay tried to swipe his feet out from under him. Three hopped lightly back out of reach.

"Gary," Three told him cheerfully.

"Your friend here talks kind of funny," said Jay. I don't know how he saw me. I never saw him look away from Three. He seemed to ignore the stream of dark red down his face and chin.

"He was born that way," I said. "What'd you do, Jay?"

"Nothing," said Jay, and he actually laughed for a second, spitting blood. "He jumped me three feet outside the door. Weirdest damn thing I ever saw."

He aimed a stiff-fingered jab at Three's body. Three nudged it easily away with his forearm and turned the movement into a throw.

The door beside me opened as Jay was rolling back to his feet, ducking a kick aimed at his head. Fawkes stood inside the doorway. He looked at the lethal blur that was Three and Jay. "You do realize that if you do not stop him, he will kill this person," said Fawkes.

"Who, Three?" I said.

"Yes."

"You hear that, Jay?" I said. "Fawkes thinks Three's gonna kill you."

"No shit," said Jay, who was currently trying, and failing, to punch Three in the head. That didn't seem to scare him, although he didn't look thrilled with the idea. The funny way he was breathing probably had something to do with that. I guessed Three had broken one of his ribs. Even so, he managed to keep his balance and avoid the next blow. "You tell him to do that, Thistle?"

"Not me," I said. "If I wanted you dead, I'd shoot you."

"Naw, you wouldn't," said Jay. "I'm faster than you - " he dodged again, then grimaced. "- And you're too much of a girl scout to shoot from ambush."

"You want to offer a counterpoint to that, Three?" I asked.

"Gary," said Three. The intonation was negative. He let Jay breathe for a minute. Both of them were sweating in the cool morning.

"Oh, I get it," said Jay, and laughed breathlessly.

And then I did, too.

"Three," I said. "Cut it out." Behind me, Fawkes was quiet. I heard him draw in a deep breath, and the chemical smell blew past me as he exhaled. There was nothing he could do that wouldn't make things worse instead of better. This wasn't a case for the gat. And Jay would be down with a broken neck or a shattered skull before he could get to Three.

"Thistle," Three objected. He wasn't stupid. He'd seen what Jay was, maybe because they had one or two things in common. He could probably even tell I was a little scared of Jay still. (Which made me really mad, like stuff I'm scared of always does. Fawkes says this is a very common defense mechanism which he himself has spent many years attempting to overcome. I really don't even want to ask what _Fawkes_ is afraid of.) And, as Jay had said, Three already knew me well enough to guess that I wouldn't do anything about that unless I had to. _And he knows I'd get killed if I tried. Jay's already shot me down once._

"So you do know some other words," Jay said to him.

"Straight to Hell," said Three clearly, and I watched his jacket draw tight across his shoulders as the muscles bunched up.

"_Damn it, _Three," I said. He paused. I watched him stand there for a second, wound up tight as a spring. I swear to you, I could _feel _how bad he wanted it, wanted to break the other man's body bone by bone over long minutes, letting him fight back, enjoying every second. _This has got to be about more than just me. _

Then Three took a long, deep breath, and he started to back up. This is the point where somebody dumb would've tried for one last hit, when they thought he wasn't ready for it. Then they would've died, quick, and Three would've looked at me sort of apologetically and shrugged. Jay was not dumb. He just watched.

"Here," I said. I kicked the switchblade back over where he could reach it. Jay leaned over, grimacing at the pain in his ribs again, and picked it up and wiped it on his pants. It left a little smear behind. I risked a glance at Three. There was a tear in the thigh of his jeans, and a very shallow cut. Jay had been trying for the big artery and he'd been too slow. "You can get the gun yourself," I said. "After we're out of sight."

"Sure," said Jay. He grinned. "No hard feelings."

"Seriously?" I said.

"Sure," said Jay. He spoke to Three. "You know I'll leave her alone. Don't you?"

"Gary," said Three, the word pregnant with hate and dire promise. "_Yes_."

"So long, Jay," I said.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: Sorry about the update delay. Working on Poser stuff._

18

As we started off I asked Fawkes, "You got the chems and food?"

"I did," said Fawkes, and reached up and poked at a burlap sack hanging from the backpack of the gatling laser. It was big and it hung kind of awkwardly, but he didn't seem bothered by it. "I suggest that we stop and eat before we go down into the dark. We will need to be alert then."

"Okay," I said. "How about the lobby at the Museum?" That way we'd be sheltered, but I wouldn't have to see anyone from the town. I was a little concerned that my name might get back to Ahzrukhal as someone inconvenient, and the terrifying picture of Fawkes rampaging through Underworld tended to stick in my mind.

We hung around in the dark corner near the door to eat. Fawkes knelt, unslung the sack, and ponderously sorted through it, picking out with two fingers anything that looked like it might have meat in it. He handed Three a package of Dandee Boy apples. Three squatted with his back against the wall and started to tear the package open.

"You want a stimpak for that leg?" I asked him. He shook his head. "Suit yourself." I took some snack cakes out of my pack for my own breakfast. I've got kind of a sweet tooth when I get a chance to do anything about it.

"How about telling me what that was all about?" I said after a while. "You want to do that?"

Three swallowed what he was chewing. Then he looked me in the eye and shook his head.

"You won't, or you can't?" I said.

"Gary," he said warily. "Can't." I eyed him for a minute.

"Okay," I said. "I'll guess. I know that wasn't just for my sake, because you didn't offer to kill Tulip back at the shop."

Three waggled one hand back and forth. I tried to ignore the loud crunching sound that was Fawkes eating. Opening the packages was out of the question given the size of his fingers vs. the boxes, so he just ate them whole. This didn't look healthy to me, but I guessed he knew what he could and couldn't handle.

"True," I said. "Different circumstances. So why'd you decide to kill Jay?"

"Gary _he might get to _gary gary gary _be a,_" Three said, and fought with himself over the next word. Finally he gritted his teeth and spat out, "Problem_."_

"Sure," I said. "But if that was it, you'd've just broken his neck, prompt. You were playing with him."

Fawkes paused long enough to say, "That much was clear."

Three shot Fawkes an _I wasn't talking to you _kind of look. He turned back to me and shook his head. "He ggg_told _you," he said, and after a few sputtered words I figured out that he was trying to repeat what Jay had said to me earlier.

"Too much of a girl scout," I said. "That's what he said." Three nodded gratefully. A drop of sweat ran down from his hairline. "And _not fast enough,_" I added quietly. "But yeah. We all know that. I'm not as fast as you _or _Jay. Not strong, like Fawkes. And between me and Jay I'm not sure who's the better tracker." _But I've got a good idea, given that he bushwhacked me without too much trouble._ "So you decided to get him because I can't, is that it?"

Three shook his head. "You," he pinched his lips shut for a second, clearly resisting another _gary. _"Won't."

"Yes," said Fawkes. "Three and I are not sure how you feel about this person. This gives us cause for concern should we encounter him in other circumstances." Three looked grateful for the interruption, for once. He'd probably done about all the talking he was going to do for today.

"You're worried I'd hesitate if he came after us," I translated this slowly. The other two waited while I thought about that. Jay knew I had let him off. Twice, if he counted when he stepped out to give me the stimpak and I hadn't shot him. I would swear he hadn't known what I was going to decide this morning, but that could just be because he couldn't really read anyone who thought differently than he did. That wasn't really the important question, though, was it?

"I've known him for a long time, off and on," I said. "He knew me before I looked like this, he was there when I got burned, and he acts like he doesn't care that I've changed. Or notice, much. Not a lot of people I can say that about." Or maybe he'd just never thought of me as a woman to begin with. There was evidence for that, if I wanted to look at it head on. Just because I'd noticed him right off didn't mean the feeling had been mutual; in fact, I had no reason to think it had. Maybe he thought of anybody he wasn't actually paying for sex as a gun with legs, like he was. I'd met enough people who seemed to take basically that view. Not all of them were men.

"I don't like him," I said. "I'd kill him if I had to. I'd rather not have to." I took a drink of water and offered the bottle to the others. Fawkes shook his head. Three took a quick drink and gave it back. "Besides," I said. "He's not coming after me on his own. And nobody's going to pay him, now he's managed to piss off Ahzrukhal." I laughed shortly as I put away the water and stood up. "I'm not important enough for that."

The others stood up as well. Fawkes brushed crumbs from the front of his worn trousers with one great hand. I still can't quite describe his expression. For one thing, like I've said, he doesn't have them in quite the same way as most people. He can't move his brows much, and he has no lips. But there is very definitely something he does when he's waiting for me to realize something nasty that he's known all along. This time it might've been his shoulders, dipping forward like he was waiting for a weight to land.

"What?" I said. Three looked from me to Fawkes, frowning. I opened my mouth to ask what was up, and then I got it.

I wasn't that important.

Fawkes was.

Most people knew who he was. Some of them probably also had reason to know he had a mind of his own that worked not _as well as, _but _better than _most humans. A mind like Fawkes's in the body of an enormous, immortal, constantly growing super mutant could have resulted in the most dangerous person on the planet.

(The reason it didn't, of course, is that Fawkes has a tendency to think big thoughts and watch the world go by if nobody is actually shooting at him. He's not one to go out and try to change things on his own. I think this is part of why we get along. Now he is patting me on the shoulder, sort of carefully so he doesn't throw me off with the typing.)

"You're thinking about those Talon mercs," I said.

"Yes," said Fawkes. "Three probably has not drawn enough attention to himself to warrant a price on his head. And they were carrying a heavy weapon."

Three nodded in agreement with this.

"Yeah, well," I said. "I doubt anyone's going to hire Jay to kill you."

"Gary?" said Three skeptically. I shrugged as we headed out the door again, and down the stairs toward the subway.

"He'd try. He might even succeed. Super mutants aren't invulnerable. I just about killed Fawkes down here before, remember?" I hauled the gate to the Metro open and stood to one side of it for a minute, letting my eyes adjust without making too much of a target of myself. I could feel Fawkes behind me, a large breathing warmth. Three leaned on the other side of the doorway, staring through the chain links.

Everything seemed quiet up ahead. I shucked the plasma rifle off my shoulder and started in.

"The thing is that Jay is expensive to hire," I said. "And he probably charges more to kill than he does for courier work, or bodyguarding, or anything else less risky. There's plenty of ex-Enclave out there who'd probably try it for lots cheaper."

"I have long been prepared for that eventuality," said Fawkes.

"Yeah," I said. "I guess you would be."

Not a lot happened for a long time. We walked through the Metro, following Fawkes's map. We were attacked by Feral Ghouls one time, but there were only three of them. Three and I killed them before Fawkes had the gat powered up. Three stopped to search the bodies, squirreling away a few caps into his new pockets, but I didn't want to touch them. I'm not squeamish, but no Ghoul likes to be reminded how easy we can go from people to animals. These had been starving so long they were absolutely savage, coming at us with nothing more than claws and teeth.

It was a longer trip than the one in. For one thing, the place we were headed was well out to the Southwest of the City, and D.C. goes on for a long ways. When we were tired, we found a maintenance cubby with a couple of dingy old mattresses thrown down in it, and Three and I bedded down behind the chain links while Fawkes stood guard outside. I didn't sleep very well, and the mattress I was on smelled bad, but it was better than nothing. We ate there, too, and managed to wash up and do whatever other business we had to do at one of the old restrooms that still had running water. For once I was really glad for Project Purity. The water was safe for Three as well as for me and Fawkes, and we filled all our water bottles at the sinks.

That day I started to notice that itchy feeling in my spine again. Somebody was following us. I kept an eye on our back trail, but that's not much good down in the Metro. Even where it's not dark, the tunnels curve around so much that visibility is low.

Still, I had a pretty good idea who it was. Talon Company mercs aren't that good at stealth, and Ferals and Raiders aren't that patient.

"We need to get up top soon as we can," I said to Fawkes that day.

"Yes," said Fawkes. He was looking at the map while Three and I kept watch up and down the tunnel. We'd stopped here because the lights were almost all working, so it was easier for him to read it. "There is a station five miles from here. I suggest we surface there."

"Okay," I said. I didn't mention the fact that Fawkes's voice was, as always, loud, and anyone within a hundred yards of us probably heard him. And whoever was following us couldn't be too far back, or he'd lose us in the tunnel. That was why I hadn't mentioned it to Fawkes and Three yet. Neither of them had suggested they knew we were followed, but I knew Fawkes had better ears than I did. Maybe he heard something and just didn't want to say.

I was real alert from then on, keeping an eye and an ear open and my finger on the trigger. If anyone wanted to ambush us while we were still down here, they'd have to do it soon. Three picked up that I was nervous and got tenser himself, but he didn't ask.

Nobody attacked us. When we got to the station it was empty except for a couple of mole rats, and they ran off to hide at the sight of Fawkes. Five minutes after that we were out the chain link gate and lurking in the stairwell, letting our eyes adjust to the bright sun. I made sure the gate was closed tight; it was rusty enough that it couldn't be opened or closed quietly, unless the unseen pursuer had brought oil with them.

After a minute I jerked my head at the stairs and led the other two up and behind the stairwell, so we couldn't be seen by anyone inside. We were on a big dusty flat, nothing but dirt and rocks in every direction. Green grass was starting to grow in the distance off toward the Southwest, suggesting there was a water source in the direction we were going.

"Okay," I said quietly. "You guys start walking." I pointed at the first outcrop between us and the green. "I'm going to stay here for a couple of minutes, see what I can see. Somebody's been after us for a while. I want to know who. And if that's going to happen, they have to hear Fawkes walking away. Stop when you get to cover and wait for me, all right?"

Fawkes nodded without speaking. Three shot me a wary look – _be careful – _and they started off together. I went as quick and quiet as I could and crouched down behind the parapet of the subway entrance, merging my shadow with the structure's. I powered up the plasma rifle and waited. At full power it made almost no noise.


	19. Chapter 19

19

I waited as Fawkes and Three's footsteps retreated behind me. It was warm up here, but the sun wasn't at its highest point; it must be sometime after noon.

After a while, a shadow flitted over me. I glanced upward and saw a buzzard circling, way up above. Maybe I looked dead from up there. I guess to a buzzard everything looks that way.

I waited some more. No need to worry about sweaty palms on the rifle stock, not for a Ghoul. The heat wasn't much fun, but it wasn't going to stop me for a long while. I was betting whoever was down there wouldn't take that long. They'd be listening for Fawkes. And if they were listening for anything quieter, well, I wasn't making any noise.

Five minutes or a year after Fawkes's footsteps faded, I heard the creak of the chain link gate opening down below. I grinned to myself and eased up to my feet, quiet as a mouse, and leaned over the parapet with my plasma rifle.

Jay stood down in the stairwell, looking around. His gun was still in its holster, and he was favoring that side a little. He saw the glow from the rifle before he saw me. I watched his eyes travel up the barrel to the shadow under my hat. For a second we just looked at each other. His nose was crooked and swollen now, and there was an ugly bruise on one cheekbone where Three had hit him. He was wearing his flat-crowned black hat on a string around his neck.

"Hi, Jay," I said.

He grinned. "Hey. How'd I give it away?"

"Why are you following us?" I said.

"Just you," he corrected. "I got no contract, if that's what you're asking."

"So what do you want?" I asked.

"How 'bout a stimpak?" he said.

"Seriously?" I said. "You've been following us for two days because you wanted a chem?" He nodded. "Why the Hell didn't you get some while you were in Underworld?"

"I did," he said. "I used them after your twitchy friend with the speech problem busted me up. And, being as how you managed to make sure I didn't get paid for my last job, I'm broke."

"And you think I'm going to give you one," I said. "What, for old times' sake? The whole time I've known you you've left me to bl - " I stopped. _Yeah, he has. He also left me a stimpak. Both times. _"But why follow us all this way if you're in such bad shape?" _That can't have been easy._

"I had a feeling that guy might be hostile if he saw me," said Jay. "And yeah, I'll heal up on my own sooner or later, but it'll take too long. I got plenty of people'd be glad to shoot me before my gun hand heals up." He held up his hands demonstratively. They were swollen from knuckles to wrist, obviously too stiff for a fast draw.

"Un huh," I said. I'd known Fawkes and Three long enough now that I wasn't surprised it was Three he was worried about. "On the other hand, Fawkes and Three both think you're liable to be inconvenient somewhere down the road. And shooting you in the face right now is apt to save me more trouble than it causes."

"Now, that ain't no way to talk," Jay said reasonably. "I might be able to do you a favor sometime."

"That's all I need," I muttered. "Aw, screw it. Get up here." I powered down the rifle, hung it up, and unslung my knapsack as Jay limped up the stairs. I dug out a stimpak. I didn't really want to get that near him, but if I threw it he might drop it. I held it out with two fingers. He took it without touching me.

"You too poor to buy food, too?" I asked, watching him jab himself in the forearm. His nose shrank and paled as the chem went in, but it stayed crooked. It probably always would.

"No," said Jay. "I got some stuff." He watched his hands shrink back to normal as the inflammation went away. "You know, that was kind of stupid," he said thoughtfully. "You with your gun put away and all." He tossed the empty syringe over his shoulder into the dust. In the same motion he drew the .44. I looked at Jay over the black hole at the end of the barrel.

"You didn't kill me when I'd cost you money," I said. "You're not going to kill me for helping you." I didn't know if this was right or not. I did know was going to feel pretty stupid for a half-second or so if I was wrong.

He looked at me for what seemed like a long time. His eyes were yellow-brown in the bright sun, almost the same color as his hair. "You know, that's actually true," he said. "I'd like to know how you know, though. You never thought much of me after I killed MacPherson."

"Still don't," I said. "MacPherson had no chance, and you knew it. I bet he wasn't the only one, either."

"Nope," said Jay. "I get hired to kill somebody, I just kill them. Giving them a fair chance kind of defeats the purpose." He buffed his nails on the lapel of his long hide jacket. The gun spun back into its holster as quickly as it had come out. "Besides, nobody cried any tears over that little shit. You didn't know him."

"That's true," I said. "I didn't. I'm going on now. Don't you follow me."

"Not to worry," said Jay. "I got places to be."

I just shook my head and turned to trek on toward the outcrop where I'd told the others to wait. I saw Fawkes standing there, the front holes in the gat's barrel glowing in his hands. Three stood in his shadow, watching. I guessed they couldn't tell who it was from there.

I felt Jay's eyes on my back for a while, and then I heard him turn on his heel in the gravel. He made no noise going down the stairs again.

"Okay," I said as I came up to the others. "Let's go."

"Did you discover why he was following us?" asked Fawkes. He hung the gat up again. It hissed down into silence.

"He wanted a stimpak," I said. Three's head snapped around so fast I expected it to make a noise. "He used up his others this morning."

"_Gary?_" said Three. He looked over his shoulder, but the mercenary was long out of sight.

"Take it easy," I said. "He's gone now.

"Thistle, _why?_" demanded Three.

"Why d'you think I gave you one when we met?" I asked.

That shut him up. He turned to glare at the barren way ahead.

"You just be glad he didn't ask to come along," I said. Three made a disbelieving _hrm _noise. Fawkes chuckled deep in his chest.

"Stupid," said Three.

"Oh, no," said Fawkes. He chuckled again. "Not Thistle."

"Gary," said Three sullenly.

"You don't actually have to stick around, you know," I pointed out. He was starting to irritate me. "You've paid me back a couple of times over. You can talk well enough to get your point across. That's good enough to get a job. Shouldn't be hard, for somebody moves like you do."

"Take it easy," Three said effortlessly. I looked at him. He smiled sadly, letting the tension go out of his neck and shoulders again.

"You're repeating what I said," I realized. _No gary-ing. _

"He has done so before, if you recall," said Fawkes.

"I do," I said. _Straight to Hell. He said it to Jay without a stutter._

Three nodded. "Thistle," he said. He'd had trouble with my name the first time he'd said it. Never since then.

"You mean it's easier for you if you repeat what I say," I said.

Three made the so-so gesture with one hand, tipping it this way and that way. "Gary. _Only for _gary _a little while."_

"You mean a little while after I say it?" I said.

"Yes."

"I would guess that has not been a common experience with others," said Fawkes. Three shook his head.

"How come?" I said. "It's not like my voice is easier to understand than anyone else's. I'm a Ghoul. I sound all scratchy."

Three shrugged.

"It's probably a matter of continued proximity," said Fawkes.

"Huh?" I said. (Even now, I seem to have a lot of conversations with Fawkes that go that way. I don't think he can help it. Now he's saying that long isolation resulted in his developing a speech pattern independent of ordinary use of the language, which I guess means with nobody to talk to but a computer, he didn't have a reason to use small words. Which is also funny considering how much effort it takes him to talk at all – I can't even come close to putting the way he actually sounds down on this keyboard. Everything he says takes a lot longer to say than it does to type, because there are these abrupt pauses between words. But I'm getting off-topic again. Fawkes was saying...)

"He has spent enough time near you that your voice is familiar," said Fawkes. "Is this so, Three?" The clone nodded. "If he left you, he would have to accustom himself to someone else. It would be difficult, and he might lose progress he has already made. He will not quickly become comfortable with another person."

Three nodded in quick agreement with that.

"Among other things," said Fawkes. "You seem to have quickly grasped that he has no interactional model for non-hostile physical contact."

Three shot him a look, like he'd wandered into an area Three didn't want to discuss. Fawkes remained calm.

"If he means you don't like being touched - " I said to Three.

"Yes," said Fawkes.

"- It's not hard to tell." The only time I'd ever laid a hand on him was when I thought he was about to jump Fawkes and get himself killed, and he'd fought me like a fish on a line 'til I let go. That had been less than a week ago. It seemed longer. "And I can see why you'd rather not talk about it."

Three nodded once. The corners of his mouth were folded down, like there was something behind them he didn't want out in the light of day. I wondered if he had ever been touched by someone who wasn't in some way trying to hurt him. _Maybe not._

"You know, Fawkes," I said. "Given what you've told me about how you spent the first part of _your _life, I'm surprised you have a – what was that? An interactional model for -"

"Non-hostile physical contact," said Fawkes. "I have developed the ability to resist my instincts over a long period of time." His voice got a little quieter. Not _quiet, _he doesn't do that very well, but definitely different than it had been. "And as you have seen, there are gaps in my control."

"Hm," I said. "You know, I grew up in Little Lamplight. I always wondered why my Mom would leave me there, if it was her. Maybe she did me a favor." The worst that had ever happened to me there was getting picked on by one or two of the bigger kids, and then only until I hit my first growth spurt. Nobody had experimented on me. Nobody had shut me up in a box for a hundred years.

"Lamplight Caverns," said Fawkes. "How very curious."

He never did say why. I didn't find out until a lot later that Vault 87 backs right onto the Caverns. It was years after I'd left that the Vault Dweller convinced the Mayor to let him through. He snuck right into the Vault, locked the door up tight behind him, and slaughtered every creature he found there on his way to the GECK.

Every creature but Fawkes. Fawkes, who had been patiently poking at computer keys for years before I was born. I was never more than a mile away from Fawkes for the first sixteen years of my life. Until yesterday, before I started to type this, I never knew.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: The concept of thermal mass as it relates to survivability in extreme climates has to do with the fact that the more massive something is, the more energy is required to raise or lower its temperature. That is, big things tend to stay close to the same temperature even if it's hot or cold around them. This is why elephants survive in Africa AND why polar bears survive in the arctic._

_Also, one thing Fawkes says toward the end of the chapter is going to sound silly, but it is almost always true in FO3 gameplay. Personally, I use Charon as a meat shield on such occasions. Half my views in VATS are obscured by him trying to attack a super mutant master with a combat knife while yelling, "There's more where dat came from!!" He's definitely going to be in my next fic._

20

The rest of that day we just walked. I don't know how Fawkes could stand being out in the heat for so long, with his bald head, but he didn't seem bothered. (Fawkes says it's because of thermal mass and he'll explain later.) I had my hat, and Three stayed in the super mutant's shadow when it was possible. He actually tried to sort of herd me that direction at first, but I explained to him that I didn't want to be walking in shade and looking into the brightness – it's hard to see that way. I guess he wasn't too worried about it himself.

We talked a little bit, but not much. Fawkes is real chatty if he thinks you're in the mood to talk, but he doesn't usually start things. He just walked along quietly, like he was thinking. He thinks a lot. I just concentrated on walking and on paying attention to what was going on around us. I didn't want to get out of the habit just because I wasn't all on my own at the moment.

Much as I liked having Fawkes around, I didn't think it was going to be for the long term. Sure, he'd sought me out again, but I got the feeling that was because we both knew we weren't quite finished with each other yet. He would have places to go and things to do that had nothing to do with me. In his own strange way, Fawkes was an important person. I wasn't. Still am not. I kind of hope I never will be. Good things don't happen to important people in the world _I _live in. Fawkes was no argument against that.

And Three...

Three was too quick on the trigger, speaking figurative (Fawkes says _figuratively – _that just doesn't sound right to me). He was going to get killed. If I hadn't run across him, he probably already would have. Sure, he was fast, but he acted like guns couldn't hurt him and he couldn't get other people to like or trust him. Even Jay could carry on a normal conversation long enough to get paid or find out what he needed to know. I'm not sure Three could do that.

When the sun started to set, Fawkes said we were still a few miles away, and it would probably take us some time to find the place even in daylight. Instead, we made camp and Three and I slept (as much as he ever did, anyway). Next day we drank our water and ate some more of our rations, and off we went.

The map showed the Vault down in a gully, a sunken channel in the ground maybe a mile long where a little creek sprang up and sank down again. We found the lip of the depression well before noon. As we got closer the green grass was more obvious. I could even see one or two flowers here and there, things I'd seen maybe once in my whole life before Project Purity.

"I don't like it," I said. The bottom of the gully was still in deep shadow, and it probably always would be except at high noon. The weeds in this one were high and green, almost brushy enough to hide a deathclaw. Definitely enough to hold a couple of yao guai. Maybe even a few raiders, if they weren't too jeeped to hold still. I could hear the water running, the little creek muttering in its bed. Water attracts all kinds of things out here.

"The air smells... dangerous," agreed Fawkes. He unlimbered the gat with one practiced movement and fired it up. He tossed the sack of rations onto the ground with the other hand. "I believe there is a path slightly South of our position. Caution seems indicated."

"Gary," said Three. I was starting to think he did it on purpose sometimes, when he wanted to say something but didn't know exactly what. Or maybe it was just habit. Or maybe whatever was wrong in his head wouldn't ever let him stop. Maybe that word would write itself on the air in front of him like a neon sign until he said it.

"Okay," I said. I took down the plasma rifle and powered it up as Fawkes turned toward a narrow dirt track that led down between some rocks. The brush crowded up close on both sides, making it into sort of a tunnel. I took a good look from the top of the trail before we headed down. I didn't see anything, but I could feel that crawly feeling along my spine again. "There's something down there, all right," I said quietly. "I think we're going to have to do some shooting."

"Then I will suggest you stay here on the rim until we are certain," said Fawkes. "You will have a better vantage point from which to fire."

There was no denying the good sense in this. I got down on my belly next to a scrubby little bush. Its shadow blended nicely with mine. When I looked around again Three was gone. I assumed he'd taken off into the grass.

Fawkes went heavily down the narrow path. He crunched through the dirt and gravel, and his shoulders and arms ploughed through the grasses that leaned into the path with a loud rustle. I could see him turning his head this way and that, listening.

There was rustling in the grass. I couldn't tell if it was from things moving or from the faint breeze that blew down the length of the gully. I could still hear the creek somewhere below, but there was no seeing much of anything through the grass.

Fawkes must have heard something I didn't. I heard him snarl, _"Where are you?" _He began to push through the brush faster, looking for the source.

I searched the tall grass, trying not to focus my eyes too hard on any one spot, looking for a movement or a swatch of color out of place. I might even catch them by their eyes and teeth – one quick glimpse of shiny white or yellow.

I might accidentally shoot Three that way as well, of course. With luck, I'd get a glimpse of the denim jacket before I did.

I heard a shot. Fawkes's head rocked back. I about swallowed my own tongue, but I made myself keep looking – panicking wouldn't help him. He staggered back as the second one hit, and then I caught a flash of metal from the gun barrel down in the shadow off to his left. _Three hasn't got a gun. _I aimed a little above it and pulled the trigger.

The wad of plasma left a scorch trail through the brush, losing a little momentum as it went. That didn't matter to the gunman, though. It didn't even matter that I'd missed his head. The plasma took out a chunk of his shoulder and burned right through his neck, cutting off his scream.

"_Found you!" _roared Fawkes, and cut loose to the right of the body. Darts of red fire peppered the weeds, tearing them down. There was another scream, and I heard someone running. Fawkes shook his head once, as if it hurt – was there a bullet in his brain right now? _Is he dead and just doesn't know it yet? _I'd seen mutants take fatal blows and keep going for minutes.

Fawkes turned the gat's barrel toward the sound with perfect accuracy. This time I heard the body fall. Then he turned to his right, growling deep in his chest.

"_Gary!"_ said Three's voice, sharp and urgent.

"Hrrrrrrmmmm," said Fawkes, deep in his chest, but he didn't shoot.

Suddenly, it was quiet. No shooting. No running. Just the loud hum of the gat and the sound of Fawkes breathing. Here and there the burnt leaves hissed.

I had to know. I tucked the rifle under my arm and went for the trail, keeping to the shadow of the tall grasses where I could. But then, I wasn't eleven feet tall. The grass stood well above my head, hiding me.

"It's me," I hissed. Three appeared out of the wall of brush to my right. He held up one finger. "You got one?"

"Got one," he repeated softly. I saw no marks on him, except the old hole in his jeans from his fight with Jay.

"Me, too," I said. "Fawkes?"

He didn't power down the weapon, but he did lower the barrel. As he turned toward us I saw the dark blood running down his face from the two bullet wounds. One had struck the ridge of heavy bone above his right eye. It was a big shell, and it hadn't gone in far. I could actually see the tail end of it sticking out there. The other had gone through his right cheek. The shooter had been below him. By rights, it ought to have pierced the roof of his mouth and stuck in his brain. Maybe it had.

"Jesus _Christ,_" I said under my breath. "Fawkes..." I took another quick look around. No more people with guns materialized. Three nodded once and vanished again. I knew he would see anyone out there before they saw me.

"It is not serious," Fawkes said. His voice was almost normal. Now he did power down the gatling laser. He hung the barrel up as easily as he ever had.

"Kneel down so I can look," I said. Fawkes knelt carefully as I laid down the rifle and took off my rucksack. Up close, he stank like an acid spill in a fireworks factory. It was sharp and caustic and dangerous; you could never mistake it for anything else. It reminded me of the time when he had carried me. Then I had needed his help, and I had been afraid of him. Neither of those was true now.

The bullet looked smaller than I'd thought. It might be a .308, which made sense – probably the man I'd killed had had a sniper rifle.

"I'm going to pull this one," I said. "It will hurt."

"Do it," said Fawkes. I braced one hand against his hard skull and dug the fingers of the other in around the end of the shell. Fawkes's blood felt so hot I was sure it must burn me, but I ignored that as I looked for a grip. After a couple of seconds I got it, and the shell came out in my hand. I felt some resistance, and a drop of hot blood hit my face as it came out. I could see yellow-white bone underneath, but there was no hole in his skull. He grunted once, but otherwise made no complaint.

"Got it," I said. "I better not stim you until I get the other one out. If you're willing to have a Ghoul's hand inside your mouth, that is." I could feel the skin sliding on the fingers of my left hand, and I knew it was coming off. I'd have to use the other one.

"I assure you, there is nothing I would rather have at this point," said Fawkes.

"Quit talking and open up," I said. Fawkes opened his mouth as wide as he could. This wasn't much for the size of his jaw, but it was more than big enough to fit my hand in there. I looked inside first. I could just see the gleam of metal in the upper back of his mouth. _It must've bogged down in his nasal passages. _I felt a little weak from relief, but now was not the time for that. I tightened my jaw and reached inside. The bullet was well embedded this time. I couldn't get a grip.

Though surely it hurt, Fawkes understood the problem. He moved his lower jaw sideways, straining the muscle and tendon. I felt the cords bunch up against my fingers, and then the bullet squeezed half out and I grabbed it and pulled. It came free with a small spray of blood. I took a stagger-step back, my hand covered in gore and spit.

"Ah," said Fawkes. He coughed once, then shifted his jaw from side to side. "Thank you. In the normal course of things, it takes me quite some time to work them loose. Once I had one remain embedded for over a month."

"This happened before?" I said weakly. I took off both gloves. The leather was soaked with blood and ruined anyway. Most of the surface of my right hand and all of the left came off with them. I shook free the last few remaining flakes of skin as I dropped the mess into a small pile next to me.

"Certainly," said Fawkes. He wiped the blood away from one corner of his lipless mouth, leaving a spot of it on his teeth. The ridge over his eye kept him from being blinded by the flow from the small wound above it. "With conventional weapons, it is almost never possible to kill a Meta-Human with one shot."

I tried one or two different responses to this, but all I ended up saying was, "I'm glad you're all right."

In the normal course of things I'd wait until the red surface of my fingers dried before I went for the stimpaks, but I didn't like seeing that bit of Fawkes's skull open to the air. I leaned over and reached for the buckle on the rucksack.

There was another hand there already. I looked at it kind of stupidly. Three pulled the rucksack pointedly out of my reach. "Thistle," he said firmly.

"Where'd you spring from?" I said.

Three clucked his tongue and dug out a couple of stimpaks himself. He stood there for a minute, looking from them to Fawkes. I could almost see him trying to reason out a way to apply them without touching him. He obviously didn't much like the needle shape of them, either. In the end, he looked at my raw fingers one more time and he did it. The first one went in just beside the little hole, and the second one he applied to Fawkes's cheek.

"Thank you," Fawkes said. Three shrugged and tossed the empty syringes into the nasty little pile we'd collected. He kicked some gravel over it. Fawkes stood up, looking around. "I assume you did not find anyone else."

Three shook his head. "Gary _found gggg - "_

"Did you find the Vault?" I said.

"Vault," Three agreed. "And _gary _water."

"Good," I said. "Show us the creek first."


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: One commentator, to whom I cannot reply directly because they did not log in, has taken note of the episodic nature of this story and asked if I'm about to introduce an overarching plot. Nope. I'm actually getting close to the story's last destination._

_Most of my fics don't have a larger "plot" other than the characters trying to stay alive. I do better with my original fiction, since I plan those out ahead of time, but the fact is that with fanfics I tend to write the whole thing based around one scene I want to write (which in this case was in Ch. 2 and 3) and sort of improv from there. I'll try to do better with the next one. ;)_

21

We piled the three bodies in the clearing Fawkes had made with the gat. The one Three had killed was unmarked, except for the blood pooling under the skin on one temple. He'd been young and kind of cute, sort of the fresh-faced look that you see on boys who grow up in the towns. He also had a necklace made out of shriveled fingers. I didn't object when Three went to check through his pockets.

The creek was narrower than I had expected, never more than knee deep. The sound bounced back from the walls of the gully and magnified, making it sound bigger than it was. We washed up as best we could. Then we followed Three down a narrow trail toward the Vault. I powered up my rifle just in case. You never know what's going to come out of one of those doors once you open it.

The actual entrance was easy to miss. The rickety wooden door was overshadowed by an outcrop of rock and half-overgrown with grass. Fawkes gathered them all in one hand and yanked. They came up by the roots. The plank door offered roughly as much resistance as tissue paper, and then we stood around the doorway and stared into the shadow beyond it. There was a dusty, empty space and a big round Vault door. A little podium-like control panel stood to the left of it. There was no writing on the door, no KEEP OUT sign. I guess they'd figured if the worst happened, there'd be nobody who could read the sign anyway.

Then a red light came on, something black and shiny moved up near the ceiling, and I heard the hum of an automatic turret warming up. Fawkes reached for the gat, but he was too slow. His normal practice was to be powered up and barrel-in-hand before real trouble actually started. There was nothing much that Three could do to a Robco turret with his bare hands.

So, all things considered, it's a pretty good thing I didn't miss.

I swung the barrel away from the dripping slag, looking for another one, but apparently that was it. I lowered the plasma rifle.

"One shot," I said. "Must be a cheap model."

"There may be other such defenses inside," said Fawkes.

"I hope not," I said.

"The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. All the same, I would rather go first."

"Be my guest," I told him. "I'll open the door." Fawkes stepped forward with the gat's barrel leveled at the door as I went to trigger the control pad. Three kept right beside me, out of the line of sight of anything that might be behind the door. I found the main lever and pulled it.

There was no alarm _whoop-whoop _like a Vault-Tec vault. The door just gave a long, rattling hiss, and the round panel rolled aside into a space hidden in the wall. Metallic clangs and thunks echoed off into the distance as the old machinery worked. A puff of dry air hit my face, smelling dusty and old.

Nothing shot at Fawkes. He took a step forward. I heard the loud _thoom-thoom-thoom _of the lights triggering on. I felt rather than saw Three twitch at the sound.

"Wait, please," Fawkes said, and disappeared inside. I looked at Three. He stood with his arms folded tight across his chest, face white and set.

"This isn't a Vault-Tec vault," I told him. "And it's certainly not 108. There might be something ugly waiting for us in there, but it won't be anyone you know. You got that?"

"Gary," he said, but he didn't sound convinced.

Two minutes later, I heard Fawkes's heavy footsteps returning. "There is nothing alive here," he said. I stepped into the doorway and looked around. The lights threw the small entryway into harsh relief. It wasn't laid out like other vaults I'd seen. This was one plain, small room. The walls were painted white. Someone had hung a couple of pictures on the walls, and there were old-fashioned chairs gathered around a low coffee table as if it were a living room. The furniture was in perfect condition except for a thin layer of dust. There wasn't even much of that. Nothing would get in past the door seal once it was shut, and this one had been shut a long time. The big prints of Fawkes's boots were the only marking in the dust on the pale green tiles.

A big doorway in front of us (I was going to say "lead," but Fawkes says that's wrong) led to a corridor, and fifty yards or so on I could see another open door. Four other doorways, all open, lined the hall. It was spacious, big enough for Fawkes to walk comfortably even in the hall, but still...

"Looks pretty small," I said. "But then, I guess it'd be expensive to build one of these on your own dollar."

"Yes," said Fawkes. He had already hung up the gat and powered it down. "I believe it is why so many chose Vault-Tec's facilities instead. The laboratory is quite large, however. I would like to examine it while you search the other rooms."

"Sure," I said. "Be careful. No knowing what this scientist was working on."

"I will," said Fawkes. "I suggest that you close the front door."

"Good idea," I said. If Fawkes had cleared it, the Vault was safe. I was less sure of the gully outside. The bodies of the raiders might attract animals, even if there was nothing worse out there. Three watched the door until it was all the way closed, but he didn't say anything. He stayed beside me as I went down the hall to the first room on the left. It was a small kitchen. I recognized the appliances, new except for their dust. I'd seen old versions of them all over the Wasteland. There was a stove and a refrigerator, a sink with silver-bright fixtures, and a coffee machine on the pale green counter top. It had all been left ship-shape, like somebody was expecting visitors – except that it had been done so many years ago. The cupboards were painted white. Their silver handles matched the faucet and the doors of the fridge and the stove. They had only tarnished a little.

There was another doorway at the back, and the light was already on inside the pantry. It was bigger than the kitchen. Probably two or three times the size. Two of the walls were still stacked high with packages. "They were here the rest of their lives and they didn't get that far into it," I said to Three. "I wonder if something happened? I didn't feel any rads when we came in. I don't think the place is hot."

Three just nodded, looking around. He seemed a little less nervous. But then, the place was so very unlike anything Vault-Tec had ever built. This wasn't just a place to hide. It had been a home. I even found myself a little envious of those people, though they'd lived out their lives trapped in here. I'd never called a place that. Underworld was the closest thing I had, and even that had Ahzrukhal.

I found a towel in one of the drawers – it had flowers embroidered on it – and used it to open other drawers and cupboards with my raw fingers. I wouldn't ask Three to do it. He still held his arms close to his body, as if he didn't want to touch anything here. Eventually I pulled out another towel so I could set my ruck and my rifle down on the counter. In the end I found about what you'd expect from a kitchen. There were cups, plates, silverware, opened food packages in the fridge whose contents had long ago turned to dust. Nothing to interest the Brotherhood of Steel.

"Okay," I said, when I'd finished with this. I held onto the towel. "Let's have a look at the rest."

The room across the hall was a bedroom with a small bath. The double bed was neatly made with a gingham coverlet. There was a wooden dresser and a big cupboard that I guessed was for hang-up clothes. A little table with a lamp stood on either side of the bed. Again, except for the dust, someone might have just stepped out.

The bathroom had a full tub with clawed feet and a plastic shower curtain. The curtain was pulled aside, probably by Fawkes – his footprints had been here before us. There were two bodies in it. They must have taken a long time to rot in this dry, sterile atmosphere, but after all, it had been more than a hundred years. The flesh had finally fallen away from the bones, dissolved into ooze and slime and finally gone down the drain (a faint yellow-brown stain still colored the bottom of the tub around the hole). The clothes were still there, those incredibly durable fabrics people had worn before the War. They were stained, but they were intact, a pink dress draped over one skeleton and a lab coat over a shirt and tie on the other. The man had worn brown loafers. The woman had pink high-heeled shoes. I stood and looked at them for a long minute or so.

"I guess there was nowhere else to put them," I said. It seemed suddenly loud. Three stood in the doorway with his hands behind his back. The smell of dust was stronger in here, but that was the worst there was. Not even the stink of decay had survived. "They were afraid to unseal the Vault to bury them, and they couldn't leave them where they fell." I turned back to search the bedroom with my towel over my fingers. I didn't feel too bad about it. However they'd gone, they were together. There was nothing here that they would need again.

There was nothing interesting in the bedroom except a computer terminal at the desk. I turned it on. It wasn't protected by a password. They'd had no reason to fear anyone, not sealed in here as they were. There were a couple of simple games of a kind I'd seen once or twice before, and there was a journaling program. I read the first couple of entries, poking at the keys with a toweled finger. There were alternate sections from two people, a man and a woman. They'd written the first time on the day they'd moved in. They were afraid of the end of the world as they knew it, but hopeful that they might still live out their lives together – and they still had their work. The BOS had said _a scientist and his wife. _That wasn't what it sounded like from the diary. They were partners.

"I'll come back to that," I told Three as I stood up. "There's probably years' worth of entries in there." He nodded. After a moment I said, "Their names were Norman and Yeung Eun. I think that was them in the bathtub." He nodded again. The information didn't seem to affect him. He must not feel as I did, like a trespasser. Would these two have been angry at my reading their diaries? Or why had they kept them all those years, if not in hopes that someone else might survive the end and come and read them? Would they have been horrified to see me as I am now? I'll never know, so I'm going to pretend they wouldn't. I've read all the entries now, you see. It took me a long time, because I don't read too fast, but I did it. Norman and Yeung Eun are more real to me than you are, whoever you are (not counting Fawkes; he's still reading this over my shoulder).

The other two rooms held another bed and bath and a storage room. The other bedroom had two single beds, side by side. One had a skeleton under the covers, dressed in pajamas. The other lay fully clothed on top of the coverlet, though the rot had stained the fabric under it. He wore an outfit similar to Norman's, a shirt and tie and pants and loafers under a lab coat. There was an open plastic bottle on the night stand beside him. The lid lay in the dust next to it, and when I looked inside the bottle it was empty. Next to the lid, there was a note. I had to pick it up and blow the dust away before I could read it.

_I don't think anyone will ever read this, but I have to hope they will. I have to believe that there will be a new beginning after this end._

_The Drs. Gunderson have been gone a few months now. We found them together. Norman had a stroke, as best we could tell, and Yeung Eun had a heart attack when we told her. We put them in their bathtub for sanitation and shut up their room. The project was basically done. I think with that finished, they didn't really have a reason to keep going. I don't know that we did, either. I think that's why we didn't discover the leak in the lab before it was too late._

I looked up from the note, holding still as I waited for that tingle on my skin that would mean there was active contamination in the room. I didn't feel anything. And whatever the rad count was in the lab, it wouldn't hurt a super mutant. "Better take a Rad-X just in case," I told Three. "Sounds like there might be a leak."

"_Might_ be a leak?" said Three. He dug a couple of pills out of his pocket as I went on reading.

_Terry spent the whole night in there, trying to come up with something else for us to work on, tidying up the place and organizing the Gundersons' notes. Next day he was sick. Then his hair fell out, and he started to develop bleeding sores all over his body. The chems didn't do a thing for him. If a real person ever reads this, and you've ever loved someone, pray you never find out what it's like to watch them suffer without being able to help them. It's worse than dying yourself. It's worse than anything. This morning Terry died while I held his hand. _

I winced at that. That's what happens to smoothskins who don't have just the right gene to become Ghouls. Radiation kills them slowly and horribly. Up until the War happened, that's what they thought would happen to everybody that was exposed. The few lucky ones, the ones whose exposure was small and brief, would just be sterile forever. Rad-X decreases the effect of radiation, and Radaway supposedly can fix it, but it must've been too late for Terry by the time he was given it.

_I'm alone now. I had hoped Terry and I would grow old together here, like Norman and Yeung Eun did. This was our safe place and our sanctuary. Without him, it's just a big box underground, an oversized coffin. I've sent the robot in to plug the leak and decontaminate the lab. I guess I just hate to leave a mess behind us. I've always been a neat freak. Terry's laughed about it for as long as I've known him, from clear back in college where we met._

"Oh, so they _did _decon it," I said. "I guess he forgot about the turret."

"Forgot," said Three. "Gary." His tone was a little sarcastic.

_I don't see the point in sitting around here waiting to die of natural causes. Wherever Terry is, that's where I belong, and that's where I'm going._

_If anyone does end up reading this, do what you like with the contents of the vault, but please bury us together. I know Norman and Yeung Eun would like to be together as well._

_The password for the lab terminal is _PLANGENT.

_Jarod Lamont_

I set the note back down on the night stand. "They were a couple," I said. "I guess that explains why two men would agree to shut themselves up in here forever. I kind of wondered about that when the Paladin told it to us."

"Gary," said Three, and shrugged as if to say, _We're alive, and we're here now._

"Right," I said, and went to search the room.


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: The default FO3 game shows docking stations for the bipedal Protectrons, but not for the game's other robots. I've assumed they must exist somewhere and were just omitted for reasons of laziness. Heaven knows, those of us who have lived in the Megaton apartment you get for defusing the bomb would be glad to be able to tell Wadsworth to go power down for a while._

_Massingbird is a real last name, believe it or not._

22

There was nothing special in that room, either. There was another unsecured terminal, but this one just had a few games on it and a couple of research-type notes that I didn't understand. I took Jarod's note with me (the paper was in fine shape, even after this long) as I went to paw through the storage room. A lot of what was in there looked to be backups and spares for the lab equipment. I didn't know what most of it was, so I didn't touch anything if I could avoid it, and then only with the towel. Then I took the note into the lab.

This was the biggest room in the vault, bigger than any of the bedrooms and certainly three times as big as the entry way. Counters and machines lined the walls. Some of the counters had complicated glass things on them. I couldn't tell what most of the machines were for, but some were floor to ceiling with buttons and lights and intake slots. There was a Mister Handy robot docked to a power station in the corner, but it sat with its head in the cradle and all of its arms neatly folded, evidently powered down. There were a couple of stools standing around, and a chair at the single desk in the corner where the terminal was.

Fawkes stood in front of one of the counters with a binder open in front of him. He seemed to be reading it. As I watched, he turned over a page with one giant finger.

"Fawkes?" I said.

He turned, carefully stepping forward so that the laser's backpack didn't take out any of the glassware. "Yes?"

"Didn't find much," I said. "Nothing that's likely to interest the BOS, unless they really want a new coffee maker."

"Highly unlikely," said Fawkes dryly. "If there is anything to be found, it will be here."

"I got the password for the terminal," I said, and held out the paper. "I don't know to say the word."

Fawkes's slit-pupiled eyes scanned the note. "Plangent," he said. "Jarod Lamont must have enjoyed words for their own sake."

"Like you," I said. I set the paper on the counter beside the binder. "What are you reading?"

"Notes," Fawkes said. "There is extensive documentation here. Perhaps years' worth." He turned his head a fraction, indicating the shelf above the counter. Other binders stood in a long row. He had taken down the first without disturbing the others, something no other super mutant would be patient enough to do. "This is the first. I hope there is something more definitive in the computer's memory."

"Do you want to look at it? I can't hardly understand the words they use in the diaries," I said. I knew he could use the keyboard. It was about all he'd done for most of his life before the Vault Dweller came along and let him out of old 87.

"I can teach them to you," said Fawkes. "But today I think I had better try it first."

"It's all yours," I said.

Fawkes picked up the chair and set it to one side. He knelt in front of the computer, turned it on, and began to poke at the inputs one finger at a time.

"I will activate the robot," he said after a moment. "We may need to stay the night here, and it will be just as well to be rid of the dust."

From the corner of my eye I saw Three's lips twitch at this fastidiousness. Then he blinked rapidly and turned to me. "Gary _stay the _night?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "You heard him. It'll take even Fawkes a long time to read it all. Would you rather sleep outside?"

Three nodded fervently. Fawkes pressed another key. There was a soft hum as the Mister Handy's docking station lit up. All four arms unbent neatly, and then I heard a _click _and the round head levitated upward. There were a few more clicks as the unit sorted itself out, probably running an internal diagnostic.

"Greetings!" it said. "My name is Massingbird. How may I serve?" The voice was one I hadn't heard before on a Mister Handy, sort of a nasal sound with odd consonants, as if it belonged to someone who had trouble moving their lower jaw. It belonged far north of here. I wondered if it had sounded familiar to one of the scientists.

"You got a cleaning routine?" I said.

"Yes, Madam. Dear me, what a lot of dust there is in here! I must have been powered down for a very long time."

"Probably a hundred years," I said. "I'm afraid the Drs. Gunderson died a long time ago."

"Yes, I have data on those events," said Massingbird. He seemed calm about it, but then, not all the Mister Handy units have advanced enough AI to act like they have feelings. "Shall I initiate the cleaning routine now?"

"Yes," I said. "Wait on the bedrooms until we've moved the bodies. Jarod's note said they wanted to be buried, and it looks like we've got some time. Is there anything like a shovel in here?"

"I believe there is one located in the storage room," said Massingbird. "Shall I retrieve it for you?"

"That's okay, I'll find it," I said. "You can find me some gloves if you want."

"I have been instructed to store several pairs," said the robot. A slot on one side opened, and a round white glob shot out. Three's hand appeared in front of my nose and caught it. He dropped the pair of wadded-up gloves into my outstretched hand. They were completely clean, free even of the dust.

"Thanks," I said, for both of them. I put the gloves on. They were some kind of stretchy plastic or rubber, but they'd be better than nothing.

Massingbird made a throat-clearing noise despite his total lack of an actual throat. "Have you suffered some injury, Madam? I have access to first aid programming."

"No," I said. "This is pretty normal for me. I'm a Ghoul. A radiation survivor. My friend at the computer is a modified human, so don't worry about him, either." Fawkes raised his head for a second at the word _friend, _but he went on typing. "Things have changed a lot since you were powered up last."

"So I gather," said the robot. "I'll just begin dusting, then." He made a couple of whirring noises, and things twisted and changed on the ends of two of his arms. One became an open-ended tube, a vacuum suction unit. The other shook out into a big puffy thing like a sponge. He turned toward the nearest counter with his new cleaning tools.

"Just don't throw out my rucksack. It's in the kitchen," I said, and went to get the shovel. "I'll check back in a while, Fawkes. Three, I could use some help if you're interested." I was pretty sure he'd be happy to be back outside. He came along with me gladly enough.

I wrapped the skeletons in sheets from the beds to hold them together and make them easier to carry. Three helped me carry them outside, so it only took us a couple of trips. Once I had them laid out next to each other, Norman beside Yeung Eun and Jarod beside Terry, I started looking for a place to dig. The ground sloped down a little from the stream to the vault's hidden door. That meant there was no worry that we'd contaminate the water if we buried the bodies near the entrance. I told this to Three as I was digging the first grave, the one for Norman and Yeung Eun, after I'd finished clearing the weeds.

"I guess we ought to mark them somehow," I said. "But I don't know what with. No trees down in here. At least we can pile some rocks over them."

"Gary," said Three. After a while he said, "What _gary _about _gggg_others?" He looked toward the clearing where we'd left the dead raiders.

"Yeah," I said, tossing another shovel full of dirt over my shoulder. "I can smell them, which means they _really _smell. I'd rather just burn them, but the smoke would be visible for miles around."

"Miles," agreed Three, and walked away. I heard him pulling weeds for a while after that while I worked. This was no joke down in the gully, where the grass was higher than his head; and quick as he was, dangerous as he was, he wasn't used to plain dull work.

I piled up some stones to mark where I buried the four from the vault, and then I started digging a ditch where Three had cleared. He watched me for a while, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead. The purpose of sweat is to cool you off, so sometimes it's inconvenient that I can't. After a while I got warmer than was comfortable, even down in the permanent half-light of the gully shadow. Eventually I heard Three stand up and head inside. In a minute I heard him coming back, soft footsteps on the dry ground. He stepped down into the ditch in front of me.

"Thistle," he said. I looked up. Three held out a water bottle in one hand. I took it carefully. My gloves were holding up better than I'd expected. They must be made of some synthetic that was tougher than latex.

"Thanks," I said. Then I took a close look at it. "This isn't one of mine. Did you get it from the pantry?"

"Gary," agreed Three. I looked closely at the seal. It had never been opened. The water inside was perfectly clear, still undoubtedly sterile.

"Two hundred years old," I said to Three. "And still good. I wish we hadn't lost _that _trick." I popped the lid off and took a drink. While I was doing that Three reached out and took the shovel from my hand. I swallowed before I said, "What're you going to do with that?"

Three grinned at me. Then he started digging. I climbed up on the edge of the ditch and sat down so I could watch him. He didn't do it awkwardly. His movements were quick and sure and, I realized after a while, familiar. _Because he's doing exactly what I did. He's learned to dig the same way he learned to walk soft._

"Fast learner," I said out loud. I had my rifle close to hand, but nobody had bothered us so far.

"Gary _because this _gary _is simple_," said Three without looking up.

"Simple isn't the same as easy," I said.

"No," said Three.

By the time he had a big enough ditch dug out, it was late in the afternoon. We dragged the corpses over and tossed them into the hole. A couple of them took more than one trip owing to the effects of the gatling laser. Flies surrounded us and them as we did it, but they were all small and ordinary; I didn't see any of the big bloatflies. Probably they didn't like the darkness down in the gully. I filled in the ditch while Three went to wash up in the creek, and then we went back inside.

Massingbird waited in the entry room, hovering in the exact center. My ruck sat neatly in the middle of the spotless coffee table. The floor was clean of dust and footprints as well. Even the paintings looked cleaner and brighter.

"Nice job," I said.

"Thank you, Madam," said the robot politely. "Your gloves appear soiled. Perhaps you would like another pair?"

"Yes, thanks," I said. I stripped them off and held them out. A three-fingered claw took them delicately as the robot fired off another pair. Three let me catch them this time.

It's hard to read much of any expression on a Mister Handy unit. They don't really have a face. But Massingbird's voice seemed diffident as he asked,

"I beg your pardon, Madam, but I would like to ask a question."

"Sure," I said.

"What happened to Mr. Lamont? He ordered me to power down shortly after Mr. Baring's death. I believe I found an empty bottle of sleeping tablets in his room while I was tidying up."

"I think Jarod killed himself," I said. "He left a note. It's in the lab if you'd like to read it."

"Thank you, no. It would not have been left for me," said Massingbird.

"Excuse my mentioning it," I said. "But that sounds kind of human-like for a Mister Handy."

"Mr. Lamont was my primary programmer," said Massingbird with simple pride. "I understand he was one of the best in his day. He was the one who maintained all of the equipment here, you see."

"I'm sorry," I said. "This must seem like it happened yesterday for you."

"Everything does," said Massingbird. "Do excuse me. I think I will go and prepare supper, if that is all right."

"Um," I said. "Sure. Thank you."

"Not at all. One must keep busy, mustn't one?" The robot rotated slowly in air and moved off toward the kitchen. We passed the door and went on to the lab. Fawkes was no longer at the computer. Now he stood at one of the counters, looking at something that I couldn't see past his body. The lab was as spotless as the entry had been.

"Fawkes? Did you find anything?" I said.

"Yes," said Fawkes slowly. "I certainly did." He moved aside so I could see the counter. There was a black plastic thing there with a lens in the top. It looked like just a box with a slot in the bottom.

"What's that?" I said.

"A very advanced scope for visualization of live cells," said Fawkes. "I've been testing this tailored enzyme on samples of my own blood." He twitched his bald head at the dropper on the counter top. It must have taken incredible delicacy for him even to hold it without breaking it, let alone use it, but he had done it. I guess by that time it shouldn't have surprised me.

"What does it do?" I asked.

"It appears to be delivered by a retrovirus. I believe it was originally meant to cure certain types of human diseases. Dr. Gunderson succeeded in using it to treat a cancer in his liver. It kills some mutated cells and reverses the effect of mutation on a wide variety of cell types, according to the research notes. It could not cure late-stage radiation sickness, like that which killed Terry Baring, but on anything less it is apparently quite effective."

"Fawkes," I said. "Did you just say it _cures _mutations?"

"Yes," said Fawkes.

"Did it work on your blood?" I said.

"Oh, yes," said Fawkes.

"Holy shit," I said.

"Gary?" said Three, looking from one to the other of us.

"Would it cure you or kill you?" I asked Fawkes.

"I do not know," said Fawkes. "It is possible that my body contains too much of the Forced Evolutionary Virus for it to succeed without being lethal. I would not be surprised. In any case, I would not choose to use it even if it were both harmless and effective. My life is not perfect, but it is the only one I know."

"Yeah," I said. Fawkes knew what it meant to be a super mutant, and everything that went with that, good and bad. (And nobody in their right mind would call being able to survive two direct head shots _bad_.) Either way, he had never been anything else.

And I...

I swallowed. Would it work on a Ghoul? Could I go back to being Connie Garcia, just like that? Back to having guys look at me, being able to take work from anybody, never wearing gloves unless I just wanted to? Back to having a voice people wanted to listen to? Back to having hair on my head and skin on my hands?

And being hurt by radiation instead of healed by it, of course. Which there was still plenty of out there. I'd never have survived the wound I got from Jay if I'd been a smoothskin. And I wasn't going to change what I did for a living. This was what I knew how to do. It wasn't like I'd been that pretty back when I was normal.

Fawkes was watching my face. "And what about you?" he said. "You were mutated solely by radiation. It would be both harmless and effective for you."

"No," I said. "Everybody gets ugly sooner or later, if they survive. If I stay a Ghoul I might live as long as Three here, maybe even as long as you. If that stuff reverses mutations it'll stop my Hayflick limit regenerating too, won't it?"

"Certainly," said Fawkes.

"Then no, thanks. You and Three will just have to put up with me looking like I do now."

"Gary," said Three. He grinned. I guessed he wasn't too sorry. I relaxed a little, and only then realized how tense I'd been. I knew Fawkes would like me no matter what I looked like. I hadn't been as sure about Three. Sure, he was different from other people, but he was still a smoothskin. _And still a man, _I thought, and hated myself for it the second I thought it. Three wasn't the kind of selfish monster who would wish me dead in forty years so I could look good for the next ten or fifteen. In fact, _selfish _wasn't the word for Three at all.

"Then the question is, what will we do with it?" said Fawkes.

"Hell if I know," I said.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: The biochemically savvy reader will probably realize that I'm talking about gene therapy with the serum. The retrovirus doesn't actually contain an enzyme, it contains RNA that codes for that enzyme. Targeted host cells will then be "tricked" into writing DNA from the RNA, incorporating it into their genome, and generating the enzyme themselves._

_There are lots of reasons why this doesn't usually work for treating genetic diseases, but hey, these are radiation-mediated mutations we're talking about, and I'm writing Video Game Science here. ;) _

23

"Don't you want to take it to the Brotherhood?" I said. "I know why _I _don't, but I'm interested in your reasons."

"It is harmless to ordinary humans," said Fawkes. "It will probably kill Meta-Humans. And it will transform Ghouls back into smoothskins. Under those circumstances, I suspect they will replicate it and attempt to distribute it as widely as possible. Probably through the water supply. That was John Henry Eden's plan for his modified virus."

"Yeah," I said. "That's kind of what I thought, too. You mind losing your cut of the money, Three?"

Three snorted and folded his arms. I took this to mean _no._

"Then I'm not sure what to do with it either," I said. "Anybody we give it to has to be able to make more of it, or there's no point. And that's not going to be just anybody if it's got retrowhatsits and enzymes, like you said. Otherwise I'd give it to Carol and Greta without a second thought. They'd only use it on people who wanted to change back. The problem with that, even if they _could _make more – and the Doc at the Chop Shop maybe could – is that once word gets out, other people will be after it."

"The Brotherhood of Steel might possibly be able to keep the process for the serum's creation a secret," said Fawkes. "There are few others of whom that is true."

"Yeah. That's a... good... point..." I stared at them both, struck. "Uh, Fawkes? Did you say that thing has some kind of virus in it?"

"An enzyme generated by a tailored RNA strand delivered by a retrovirus," said Fawkes.

"Yeah," I said. "You know why Ghouls don't catch colds?"

"Colds?" said Three.

"For the same reason I do not," said Fawkes. "Both Ghoul and Meta-Human DNA is somewhat unlike ordinary DNA, and neither Ghouls nor Meta-Humans are reluctant to expose themselves to radiation. Radiation is lethal to a great many pathogens."

"You mean rads kill viruses," I said.

"Yes."

"So if it wasn't for Project Purity, you could drop this serum stuff in the water all day and it wouldn't do a thing to anybody," I said.

"That is likely," said Fawkes. "But Project Purity did take place."

"Yeah," I said. "But what if that info got around before the BOS had time to make a big batch of this stuff? Word travels fast and they'd need some time, wouldn't they?"

"They would," said Fawkes.

"So all anybody's got to do is irradiate their water before they drink it for a while. It wouldn't take long to collect up enough radioactive crud from the D.C. Underground to make that easy, especially in Underworld where leaky rads can't hurt anybody."

"That would not prevent the deaths of a large number of Meta-Humans," said Fawkes quietly. "I have seldom found them other than intolerant and violent, but I would not see them all killed for that."

"You're right," I said slowly. "Eventually the survivors would wise up and start hanging out around radiation, too, but that would be too late for a lot of them. If we told them, would they pass it along?"

"I think so," said Fawkes. "They do communicate among themselves."

"So we'd have to find a way to tell them, too," I said.

"Thistle," said Three, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, Three," I said.

"You _ggggive _this to _gary _the Brotherhood. They _gggknow _what _garygary _you know. Then what?"

"Ah," I said. "You mean if we hand this over, they might be inclined to muzzle us in order to prevent exactly what we're talking about."

Three nodded. "Muzzle," he said, and smiled the tight little smile that meant something not-very-funny was happening.

"I do not think they would attempt to kill me," said Fawkes. "I've found them to be true to their agreements, once made. And they are aware of the personnel cost that would entail."

"Depends on whether they're laying for us when we come back," I said. "Seems like they wouldn't have let you outbid Jay if they knew we were after this stuff, though. He wouldn't have been able to read the lab books. Probably wouldn't have tried. He'd just download all the stuff in the computer and haul it back, same as I would if I was alone."

"I suggest we communicate what we need to communicate before we return to the Brotherhood," Fawkes said. "If we give them what we have and leave before they are able to read the full reports, they probably will not try to stop us. And if they do – it will be too late."

"Right," I said. "Makes sense." I looked around at the inside of the lab thoughtfully. "I'll be sorry to leave. I kind of like it here. It's homey, you know?"

"And defensible," said Fawkes. We looked at each other. I pictured the single entrance with its heavy round door. The vault was buried in the side of the gully, under tons of earth and stone. And the creek began and ended down here. Anybody who wanted to poison it would have to do it from down here in the weeds.

"They could dig us out, given time and heavy enough artillery," I said. "But I bet it won't be worth their trouble."

"Not with so little to gain, and... a high personnel cost," said Fawkes. He grinned down at me and Three. I grinned back.

"What do you say, Three?" I asked him. "You can still sleep outside the door, if you want."

Three looked at me. "Where you go," he said, and bit off a couple of silent syllables. "I go."

"No opinion?" I said.

"Gary," said Three, by way of indicating that was his last word on the subject.

"Okay," I said. Then I looked at him again, struck by a thought. "That _Gary _thing, and all the rest of it. That's because you're a clone, right? Is it because of a mutation?"

One corner of Three's mouth twitched. He shook his head. "Not because of a mutation. Bad _gary _copy. Grown wrong."

I looked at Fawkes.

"I believe he means that the problem is developmental as well as genetic," said Fawkes. Three nodded. "The serum would not change the abnormal arrangement of his mind and memories. That is irrevocable. The serum would shorten his life, as it would yours, but with no visible benefits."

At least the last sentence of this made sense. "Okay," I said. "So how much of the stuff is here?"

"Roughly a liter," said Fawkes. "Enough for perhaps five subjects of human size. It will have to be administered over a period of time to have a lasting effect."

"So they'll have to make a lot of it, even if we give them all we've got," I said.

"Yes. The retrovirus is robust enough to remain viable at a wide variety of temperatures."

"Which means?"

"It will travel well."

"I see," I said. I thought about this. "What if we don't give them any? Will they still be able to make their own from the formulas?"

"Possibly," said Fawkes. "There are aspects in which reverse engineering of the serum would be easier than acting from the laboratory documentation."

"Okay. Well, I don't see any reason not to give them all of it. It's going to be all over the place soon enough."

"Agreed," said Fawkes. "That being the case, shall we eat?"

"Gary," agreed Three, sniffing.

"Okay," I said. "Let's see what Massingbird has for us."

Massingbird, as it turned out, was quite a cook – and he'd taken notice of Fawkes's size when he started work, too. I helped carry some of the resulting collection of empty plates back to the kitchen from the entry room. We'd mostly eaten with our fingers, Fawkes out of necessity and me because I felt like it and Massingbird had assured me he had plenty more gloves. I'm not sure Three had ever learned to use silverware.

"Did the others eat in there?" I asked the robot as I shut the dishwasher. It was going to take a couple of runs to get all the plates through.

"Sometimes," said Massingbird. "There is a larger table in storage for special occasions. While they were working, the Drs. Gunderson were apt to prefer a sandwich in the laboratory."

"Well, thanks a lot," I said. "We're thinking of coming back here after we've done what we need to do. Would that be okay with you?"

"You buried the Drs. Gunderson," said Massingbird in his stiff-jawed, emotionless voice. "And Mr. Lamont and Mr. Baring."

"Yeah," I said. "I piled rocks over the graves, if you want to go and look at them some time. Didn't really have a way to make a headstone for them."

"That will not be necessary," said Massingbird. "As far as I'm concerned, you are welcome to return at any time. The changes Mr. Lamont made to my programming instilled a set of interactional parameters that occasionally interfere with my functionality if I am isolated and aware for long periods."

I digested this for a second, listening to the hum of the dishwasher. "You mean you get lonely?" I said.

"I suppose that term is as good as any," said Massingbird. "I can only look upon it as a mercy that he ordered me to power down before he took his own life. It would have been very... lonely in here for a hundred years."

"He must've cared about you," I said.

"I would like to think so," said Massingbird. A small sensor array rotated to face me on top of the sphere that served him as both body and head. "You are very curious about them."

"I looked at the Gundersons' diaries earlier," I admitted. "Just the last couple of entries. It's hard to see the people who wrote those as the same as the things I buried. Same with Terry Lamont's note. It makes me wonder what they were like."

"Perhaps if you return, we will discuss it further," said Massingbird. _If._

"Sure," I said. "When we get back."


	24. Chapter 24

24

Fawkes copied all the research notes onto disks. There were plenty of them around – after all, the Gundersons had planned to spend the rest of their lives doing research. The storage room had turned out to be a lot bigger than it looked, not a match to the kitchen next door to it but a long, narrow room that stretched out for yards and yards of dusty clutter. Massingbird said he'd do a cleaning and inventory for us to look at when we got back. "It will give me something to pass the time," was what he told me as we were on our way out. "Be careful, Madam."

Massingbird was the one who came up with the steel box for us to carry the disks and the two half-liter bottles of serum in. I packed them under Fawkes's careful directions and he stuck the box into his rations bag for the long walk back. I wore the latex gloves out, and I carried two sealed bottles of 200-year-old water with me. It wouldn't last very long, but it would taste good while it did.

I was actually a little sorry to leave the gully. Coming out, the idea of the vault seemed too good to be true – my own room, my own bed, my own bathroom with actual hot water. Cooked food, enough even for Fawkes. And presiding over all of it was Massingbird, with that forever sadness that only robots, with their perfect memories, can really know. Maybe he really _would _be glad to see us back.

I stopped for a minute by the two grave sites before we left. I wondered if any of the four could have imagined me, a living corpse to their eyes, clearing the weeds and digging the hole with the clone helping me. "They were alive when you were made," I said to Three. "They had their own little Heaven here while you were growing up in Hell. And here we are now, and they've been dead a hundred years. It's a weird thought."

Three looked at me and at the graves. Then he smiled, just a little bit. "I'm alive," he said.

"Yeah," I said. I turned and started up the broad path Fawkes had made on our way in. "Me, too."

It probably hadn't been a Heaven to them. They were used to whatever life people used to live before the bombs fell. And it must've gotten old, living out the rest of their lives underground, afraid to go outside because of the rads in the ground and the water and the air. I looked up at the clear sky up above the gully shadow, bluer than any water I'd ever seen. _It's not so bad, being a Ghoul._

We walked. Nothing bothered us in the Metro this time. Either word like Fawkes got around, or we'd killed or scared off everything on our way through last time and nothing had had time to move back in yet. We slept the night in the same spot we had on our way out, the smelly mattresses behind the steel fence. It made the vault seem even further away, even less real.

The next afternoon we stepped out of the stairwell in front of the Museum. I hailed Willow again, and she answered just like last time. I came up the stairs.

"Hi," I said. "Me again."

"Still got your friends with you," said Willow, looking at Three and Fawkes. She seemed a little less disapproving this time, like maybe we were funny.

"Can't have too many," I said, and we went inside. I went to Underworld Outfitters and stuck my head in. Tulip looked up warily from behind the counter.

"Thistle?" she said. "Is that you?"

"It's me," I said. "You got a minute? It's important."

"Okay," she said. I went in. Three and Fawkes waited outside.

"Everyone needs to know this, and you have to tell them," I said. Then I told her about the new serum the BOS had. I left out the fact that they didn't technically have it _yet, _and that they were going to get it from us. I made sure she knew everything else.

"God," she said when I was done. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You're centrally located," I said. "You can make sure everybody knows. I'm going to tell Carol and Greta, too. Anybody who wants to stay Ghoul had probably better start hitting their water with some rads before they drink it."

"Yeah," she said. "I'll – I'll pass it around." She was too blown away to ask where I'd found it out. That was probably just as well.

"Good. See you around."

I repeated this performance upstairs. Carol nodded seriously.

"I'm so glad you told us. It might be nice to be pretty for a while – I've almost forgotten what that was like – but if it's all the same, I'd rather live longer. Greta will feel the same way about me no matter what. It'll be up to her, but I'll bet she feels the same way."

"I just want to make sure everyone has a chance to choose for themselves," I said. "You know?"

"I know," said Carol. "How did you learn this?"

"Can't tell you that," I said, and grinned across the cash register at her. "But it's the truth."

"I believe you," said Carol.

I went back downstairs, and the three of us went out into the lobby and out onto the Mall.

"Now for the mutants," I said.

"Yes," said Fawkes. "I think it will be best if I handle this. Please watch the bag." He unslung the sack from his shoulder and set it down on the sidewalk beside me.

"Sure," I said. "Be careful, okay? There's a lot more of them than you."

"There always have been," said Fawkes, and he turned and walked out toward the trenches. After a minute he disappeared down into one. Three and I waited. Three watched everything around us, the sky and the ground and the subway entrance and Willow. I watched for Fawkes.

After about ten minutes – it seemed longer – he climbed up out of the diggings the same place he'd gone in. His Vault 87 jacket was dusty, and there was a dark smear around his nose where he'd evidently wiped blood off. As he came closer I saw that there was blood on the knuckles of his right hand, too. He wasn't breathing hard.

"I guess you got the point across," I said.

"Indeed, yes," said Fawkes. He rubbed the knuckles against his pants. The blood evidently wasn't his. "My brethren are not easy to reason with, but it can be done. Given sufficient impetus."

"Impetus mean the same thing as punching?" I said.

"There are parallels," said Fawkes.

"I guess you didn't have to shoot anyone."

"Happily, that was not necessary," said Fawkes. He picked up the sack. "Are we ready to move on?"

"Three?" I said. "Last chance to wait outside."

"Gary," he said scornfully.

"All right then. Here goes."

We went down the sidewalk to the building where we'd met the Paladin before. Sigerson wasn't on duty. The knight in charge was one Fawkes didn't know. He ran back to talk to the Paladin. After a minute he came back out and sent us in.

The Paladin sat in the same chair at the same table. He stood up as we came in, looking at the sack on Fawkes's shoulder.

"Afternoon, Fawkes," he said. "Didn't find anything?"

"Good afternoon, Paladin," said Fawkes. "In fact, I believe we did." He took the steel box out and set it on the table. One finger flicked the catch and the lid. "This is the Drs. Gunderson's life work."

The Paladin looked at the clear plastic bottles with their cloudy white fluid and the neat stacks of disks.

"What is it?"

"The notes are extensive and complex," said Fawkes. Which was true, of course. "I believe it is a cure for cancer. A virus targeting the cells unique to that disease. It is not something with which my kind are afflicted." I thought _my kind _was laying it on a little thick, but the Paladin evidently bought it. He picked up a small satchel that was lying on the table.

"All right. Here's your pay." He evidently remembered our last conversation, because he handed it to me. He didn't look away from the super mutant. "As always, a pleasure working with you, Fawkes."

"Likewise," said Fawkes. He nodded once. "Goodbye, Paladin."

And then we left. I felt the leathery veteran's eyes on us all the way to the door, but he didn't try to stop us. I didn't take a deep breath until we were out of the building.

"Back down the hole?" I said.

"Back down," Three said. He flicked a wary glance over his shoulder. The doors were still closed.

"Seems to me like that vault might be a good place to wait this one out," I said as we went back down the stairs to the Metro.

"You _ggg_like it there," said Three.

"I do," I said.

"I am never averse to cooked meals when they are available," said Fawkes.

"What do you say, Three?" I asked. "Think you could get used to it?"

Three shrugged. "You go. I go."

And that was that.

We went a little faster on the return trip than we had on the way down, but nobody followed us the first day or the second. Nobody shot at us from the gully, and only the wind rustled the high weeds in the permanent shadow. The graves were still there. Massingbird was waiting in the entry room when we came in the big round door.

"I'm so pleased to see you alive and well," he said. I think he was.

"You, too," I said. "Any chance we can build a new turret for outside?"

"It is certainly a possibility," he said.

That night, Massingbird dug a radio out of storage, and we listened to it every day for the next week. Everybody knew Three Dog, the only real DJ in the Wasteland, had BOS security and BOS connections. I was betting that if they let anything out official, it would be to him.

Over the course of the week, the skin on my hands grew back. I started to read some of the earlier entries in the Drs. Gunderson's diaries, and I talked to Massingbird about them, how Norman used to chew on his left thumb nail and Yeung Eun loved to play Rook with an old pack of cards that was still in her dresser. I got him to teach me. Sometimes we played, me and Massingbird and Fawkes and Three. (It's funny to see the cards in Fawkes's enormous hands; also, trumps has been "Gary" quite a few times. For some reason this always means red. Three seems to like it.)

Massingbird salvaged a few parts from the slagged turret and dug some more out of storage and started to build a new one. He really is amazing. I've never seen a Mister Handy do so many different things. He doesn't seem to mind us here in this place that is basically his home, using things that were theirs. But then, he may be a person, but he's not a human person. Some of the things he sees and thinks are things Terry made him to see and think; and I think some of them are his own.

On the morning of the seventh or eighth day, while we were sitting around the entry room drinking coffee (at least I was – Fawkes prefers tea and caffeine make Three too twitchy), Three Dog came on and started talking about a Cure. "Come one, come all! The Brotherhood of Steel can make your mutations just disappear. Cure cancer, too, for those of you who've been smoking a few too many cigarettes – I know I have." He didn't say anything about super mutants dying. But then, I didn't think they were probably going to show up and ask for the cure, either.

That night I slept on clean sheets in Jarod Lamont's bed. Three slept in Terry Baring's. There was no discussion of this from either one of us. Three didn't say anything else about sleeping outside, and I didn't ask him to leave. Still haven't.

The new turret was up the day after we heard the announcement. It looked a little funny, but it worked. I know it did, because a couple of nights later I woke up with my rifle in my hand under the pillow and Massingbird silhouetted in the doorway of our room. Three was sitting up in the other bed.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir and Madam," he said. "It appears that we have uninvited guests."


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: One of the things that makes FO3 work so well as a post-apocalyptic game is that the dead are more real than the living. Voice recordings and written journals and memos, skeletons with teddy bears and dusty soda bottles on desks – it's a world full of 200-year-old bodies that no one has ever buried and 200-year-old stories that no one has ever told. Personal histories are everywhere for the player to read and prized possessions are left behind to find and use. I hope I'm getting a little of that across with the story of the Gundersons, Terry and Jarod. It's this atmosphere of sadness and strange glimpses of departed joy among the violent horrors that makes FO3 not a good game, but a great one._

25

"I didn't hear anything," I said, reaching for my boots. I was sleeping in some stripey cotton things that had belonged to Terry. Three had all his clothes on.

"Sound does not carry well through the seal," said Massingbird. "Which, fortunately, is still engaged as per my evening security routine. I installed a transmitter in the turret which matches one of my onboard receivers. Her communication, while somewhat dull, is quite clear. There are three individuals in powered armor outside in the gully."

"Shooting?" I said. _Wait, _her _communication?_

"Not currently. The turret informs me that they have thus far heeded her verbal warnings and remain back out of range. You will probably have time to change your clothing if you wish."

"Oh," I said. "Good. Thanks, Massingbird."

Three padded out as I went to get my jeans and shirt. Massingbird stayed in the doorway while I changed. I didn't mind. I'm not particularly shy and anyway, why shouldn't a robot look at a Ghoul?

"So the turret can give verbal warnings now?" I said. "Did you program that thing with an AI?"

"Not precisely," said Massingbird as I started buttoning buttons. "I uploaded one created by Mr. Lamont. I understand it was originally intended for me. He developed the more sophisticated aspects of my programming over several years."

"And now the turret is a she," I said.

"Arbitrarily. Gender has no more meaning for her than it has for me. That is how she chooses to refer to herself."

"Does she have a name?" I asked. I was tying up my bootlaces now. "I'm going to feel kind of bad if the BOS guys blow her up."

"Oh, no need to worry about Craft," said Massingbird. A round light shone yellow on one surface of his head as he rotated. "She has so far been cooperative in following my instructions to perform regular backups. The mainframe in storage is entirely adequate to the purpose."

"There's a _what _in storage?"

"Perhaps we might more conveniently discuss it later," said Massingbird. I grabbed my rifle and headed for the door. He floated into the hallway, out of the way.

"Good point."

Fawkes and Three were waiting in the entry room. Fawkes still wore the gat. (He's still wearing it as I type this, sitting here at the computer in Terry and Jarod's room. I've never seen him take it off. Now he's saying that readiness is all, which sounds like a quote but I can't tell from what.)

"So they did come after us," I said.

"Gary," said Three darkly. He stared at the round door as if he could see through it, though I doubted there was much he could do to men in full power armor.

"I doubt they want us specifically," said Fawkes heavily. "It is more likely that they wish to insure we did not withold any more research of the Drs. Gunderson."

"And instead they're getting a crash course in the robotics of Jarod Lamont," I said. "Serves them right. Is there any way we can talk to them without opening the door, Massingbird?"

"I regret that I have not yet had time to install a vocal transmission system," he said. "I can, however, relay messages to and from Craft."

"And she'll tell them to the guys outside?" I said.

"Yes, Madam."

"Okay, tell them this. My name is Thistle. I live here. What do you want?"

Massingbird hovered in place for a second, humming to himself.

"We need to search this vault," he relayed after a second, in an accent very different from his usual – I guessed it belonged to the Brotherhood knight who was speaking. He even managed to get across the flattening and distortion from the powered helmet.

"Tell me what you want," I said. "Maybe I'll give it to you."

There was a pause. "They seem to be talking among themselves," Massingbird said. "Craft indicates there is some profanity being exchanged. She finds it amusing. I fear her sense of humor is somewhat questionable."

"They've got kind of a dilemma," I said. "They might be able to kill Craft, but they can't break down _that _door. Not with anything three of them could be carrying." That's what I thought of it as, killing Craft. I couldn't imagine something that wasn't a person having a questionable sense of humor. "I wonder if they know Fawkes is in here?"

"I suspect so, Madam," said Massingbird. After a moment he said in a slightly different voice, "We know you're a Ghoul. Would you like to be normal again? We have a cure."

I smiled, even though they couldn't see it. "I helped bring you the damn cure. You know what a Hayflick Limit is?"

"Craft reports considerably more profanity," said Massingbird, after relaying this. "And assorted colorful phrases of an anatomical nature. The first speaker is reprimanding the second for making a foolish suggestion."

"I bet," I said. "They can't possibly be carrying enough caps on them to make it worth our while. They've got nothing to bargain with except threats. I'm not saying I _want _to stay inside here for the next hundred years - "

"In fact, it would be nearer fifty, considering Mr. Fawkes's dietary needs," said Massingbird.

"Right," I said. "But we can."

"They have moved out of Craft's audio pickup range," said Massingbird.

"They're not gone," I said. "They'll hide in the bushes for a couple of days and see if we come out."

"I agree," said Fawkes. "Afterwards they will return and report to their superiors."

"And then?" I said. "Will they come back with reinforcements?"

"That will depend," said Fawkes. "Specifically, it will depend on whether they believe we have something else of the same value as the serum hidden inside this vault. The Brotherhood does possess weapons powerful enough to open this vault, but they are few and they will not use them lightly. The resource demand is too high." He hesitated for a second, rubbing the top of his bald head. "They are still somewhat in my debt, but that is awkward for them given their normal attitude toward Meta-Humans. I am not sure whether that will weigh with them or not." I'd gotten a lot better at reading his voice by that time. The overtone of sadness was real and distinct. Never mind the power armor, I wanted to go find the Paladin and punch him in the face. I sat on that reaction prompt, though. If I couldn't do that I'd've got killed a _long _time ago.

"What if we let one of them come in and look?" I said. "All through the vault? I mean, not the whole storage room, that would take years. But as much as he can do in a day or so with us looking over his shoulder. Would that convince them there's nothing here?"

"Not completely," said Fawkes. "But it would give them much less reason for further incursions."

"Damn straight," I said. Massingbird, can Craft talk loud enough for them to hear her?"

"Possibly," said Massingbird.

"Okay, tell them this - "

"Let my voice be the one they hear," said Fawkes. I nodded. It would have more weight coming from him. "Officers of the Brotherhood of Steel," said Fawkes. "This is Fawkes. I have a proposal."

"They have moved within visual range again," said Massingbird. Fawkes related our idea.

"You may retain your armor and weapon, but you must remove your helmet. If more than one of you approaches the door or attempts to enter, we will consider you to have violated the agreement," he finished. The last three words seemed to trend down in pitch a little. I looked at him with surprise. "Do you understand?"

"Understood," said Massingbird, in the first voice we'd heard. "I'll go." He reverted to his normal voice and added, "The others appear to disagree with this decision owing to the risks inherent." One sensor on top of his head rotated toward Fawkes, kind of pointedly, it seemed to me. "He outranks them, however. He has cut off the discussion and is approaching the front door."

"Open it," I said. The three of us faded back to each side so we wouldn't be visible in the opening. Massingbird glided forward, made a couple of changes on the door's interior control panel, and slid back himself as the door hissed open.

One man in powered armor stood there without a helmet. He apparently had decided to leave behind his weapon as well, or at least he wasn't carrying it where I could see. His skin was sort of a coffee-with-cream brown, and the thin fuzz of hair on his skull was black. He stepped slowly inside.

The door closed behind him as he looked around at us. Nobody had drawn a weapon.

"So it is you," he said to Fawkes. I guess he recognized the Vault 87 suit. "I saw you once, with the Vault Dweller, but we've never met."

Fawkes nodded slowly.

"What's your name?" I asked the man. He turned to look at me, kind of curiously, I thought. I guess all three of them must've been wondering about me.

"I'm Knight LaShawn Redpoll. You must be Thistle."

"Yeah," I said. "That's Three." I jerked my head at Three, who was looking very closely at Knight Redpoll. "Here's the deal. You can go in any room. Open the cupboards, look in the drawers, read the computers, whatever. Just don't try to take anything. That make sense?"

"It makes sense," said Knight Redpoll.

"At least one of us will always be watching you," I said. "So it may get a little crowded in here. Don't let that bother you. You keep faith with us and we'll keep faith with you. Do what you've got to do and get out."

"Fair enough," said the Knight. "Okay if I start in here?"

"Be my guest," I said.

The next while was boring and tense, so I'm going to skip over most of it. Redpoll searched pretty much the whole place. Massingbird came along behind him and tidied up anything he left messy. Which he didn't, really; I got the impression the robot was kind of offended that he was there. We went from room to room with him. After a while the Knight started to sweat a little, but I thought it was from concentration, not from fear. He wiped his nose with a gloved hand and kept going.

Massingbird had been true to his word about the storage room. Everything was lined up in neat rows by category. Redpoll went through and looked it all over.

"We could use some of these parts," he said. "All of it is in new condition."

"Mm hmm," I said. "When you go back, let them know we'll be happy to consider an offer on each piece that you want."

"From what I hear, you've already collected once," he said mildly.

"We were the low bidder," I said. "Six hundred caps plus food rations for Fawkes. And for that, you got a cure for mutation _and _cancer. I think that's more than fair."

"Six hundred caps and a new house," said Redpoll. "Looks like you made out all right."

"It's not _our_ house," I said. "Massingbird has been nice about letting us stay, though."

"Un huh," said Redpoll, looking at the robot. Massingbird looked back with no expression that I could see. I was pretty sure the BOS guys would want to get their hands on Jarod Lamont's AI work. But then, Redpoll didn't know Massingbird was a unique creation. He looked like any other Mister Handy.

Redpoll gave kind of a sarcastic look to the shiny stuff in the lab, but he didn't say anything. I doubt there was much of anything there that the Brotherhood didn't have already. He spent a few minutes on the binders and a few more on the computer, I think just confirming what he expected to see. All of us were relieved when he said he was done. I could see Three getting wound tighter every second, and it was starting to look painful.

We all trooped back down to the entry room and Massingbird opened the door again. Redpoll looked up at Fawkes.

"I can guess what her reasons are," he said. "Probably, his, too." He was wrong about that part, actually, but it seemed like a bad time to correct him. "But I'd like to know why you would do this, Fawkes."

"My involvement with the Brotherhood was for the sake of my friend," said Fawkes. "He is dead."

"And what about them?" asked Redpoll, looking at Three and me.

"You are brave to ask," said Fawkes. "But I have never seen a Knight who lacked courage. In the end, you would betray me because of what I am." I was pretty sure _you _didn't mean Knight Redpoll. I think he knew it, too. "Humans will always find me repugnant. This is true even of Three. Thistle is unusual in that she does not."

"Gary?" said Three, startled. He was still staring up at Fawkes as Redpoll turned and went out into the gathering dark. Massingbird closed the door behind him and locked it.

"Repugnant?" said Three.

"I think that means ugly," I said. Three rolled his eyes.

"_Know _what it _gary _means."

"It is clear that you do not trust me," said Fawkes. "You have not since we met." He didn't seem upset by this, just curious.

"Gary _same as_ ggeveryone," said Three.

"Yeah, that's true," I said. "He's not a trusting kind of guy. I don't think he cares that you're a super mutant. I mean, he spent like 200 years inside Vault 108 learning to hate a bunch of guys who looked exactly like him. When I met him he was in the middle of getting an object lesson on not trusting anybody who _doesn't _look like him, either."

"Except for one person," said Fawkes.

Three nodded. He was still looking at Fawkes. "Thistle," he said.

"We have that point of agreement, at least," said Fawkes.

"Glad to hear it," I said. I couldn't hug Three, and while Fawkes would probably let me hug him, it would seem sort of unbalanced. So I just stood there, feeling warm.

"Craft indicates they have left audio pickup range again," said Massingbird after a while, breaking the silence. I was sure they'd left range quite a while ago, and he'd been waiting for the right time to say it.

"Thanks," I said. "And thanks again for letting us stay. I really like it here."

"I am very pleased you've decided to remain here," said Massingbird. "I believe I will go and see if I can locate enough parts to build a few proximity sensors."

He went out the next day to set up the new sensor net. I didn't have anything special to do, so I read some more of the diaries. That was when I got the idea for typing all this out. It seems like we're pretty safe here at the moment. Three is out walking up and down the gully, memorizing every scrap of the ground. If anyone tries to sneak in here, maybe with a Stealth Boy or some of the recon armor you see around, they'll have to set off the new sensors or destroy them - and then they will find themselves in unfamiliar territory while Three stalks them through the weeds with hard, deft hands. And if they get past him, Fawkes will come down on them like the wrath of God; and by then I'll be up where I can see them with my plasma rifle. And if somehow they get past us all three, there will still be Craft and Massingbird and whatever nasty little surprises they can come up with.

I like our odds pretty well. But if I turn out to be wrong, I want there to be some record left behind. If the only way for anybody to learn my name after this is through this terminal, I want to make good and sure they know about Three and Fawkes and all the rest of it, too. I don't type real fast, and I've been at this for a lot of days now. Whenever I have time, and Fawkes has time to read over my shoulder and tell me where I spell stuff wrong, I come back here to Jarod and Terry's room and work on it some more. Three isn't much of a reader, so it's usually just the two of us. He seems to get along pretty well with the robots. Probably because they never try to touch him.

I'm only a couple of feet from the bed Three slept in last night. Tonight, when he comes back in from pacing the gully, he'll sleep right there again. Fawkes will walk the hall and the lab and the entry all night, just like he does every night. And if Three wakes up screaming, like he still does from time to time, he'll know me and my rifle are just a few feet away and Fawkes and the gat just a few more. And if _I _wake up – twinging from the scars in my back and belly, wondering why my boots are off, thinking it was all a dream and I'm dying of a hole in my gut out in the mud – then Three will be right there, saying "Gary" in the most reassuring way possible.

And then I'll hear the footsteps of a giant outside in the hall, and I will know that everything is all right, and that everything will be all right forever.

Or until tomorrow. Sometimes that's the best you can do.

_Power down terminal? Y/N_

_Y_

_End_


End file.
